THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

Education 

GIFT  OF 

Louise  Farrow  Barr 


Copyright,  1899,  by  Henry  Altemus. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  or  '  LADDIE" 


&«^j>sse 

>  °^          Vr^    <r3F\l 


Education 
GIFT 


1ST 


z. 

ZOE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"Hath  this  child  been  already  bap- 
tized, or  no  ?" 

"No,  she  ain't;  leastwise  we  don't 
know  as  how  she've  been-  or  no,  so  we 
thought  as  we'd  best  have  her  done." 

The  clergyman  who  was  taking  Mr» 
Clifford's  duty  at  Downside  for  that 
Sunday  thought  that  this  might  be  the 
usual  undecided  way  of  answering 
among  the  natives,  and  proceeded  with 
the  service.  There  were  two  other  ba- 
bies also  brought  that  afternoon,  one  of 
which  was  crying  lustily,  so  that  it  was 
not  easy  to  hear  what  the  sponsors  an- 
swered; and,  moreover,  the  officiating 
clergyman  was  a  young  man,  and  the 
prospect  of  holding  that  screaming,  red- 


331 


6  Zoe. 

faced  little  object  made  him  too  nervous 
and  anxious  to  get  done  with  it  to  stop 
and  make  further  inquiries. 

The  woman  who  returned  this  unde- 
cided answer  was  an  elderly  woman, 
with  a  kind,  sunburnt,  honest  face,  very 
much  heated  just  now,  and  embarrassed, 
too ;  for  the  baby  in  her  arms  prevented 
her  getting  at  her  pocket  handkerchief 
to  wipe  the  perspiration  from  her  brow 
and  pulling  her  bonnet  on  to  its  proper 
position  on  her  head.  The  man  beside 
her  was  also  greatly  embarrassed,  and 
kept  shuffling  his  large  hob-nailed  shoes 
together,  and  turning  his  hat  round  and 
round  in  his  fingers.  I  think  that  really 
that  hat  was  the  chief  cause  of  his  dis- 
comfort, for  he  was  so  accustomed  to 
have  it  on  his  head  that  he  could  not  feel 
quite  himself  without  it;  and,  indeed, 
his  wife  could  hardly  recognize  him,  as 


Zoe.  7 

she  had  been  accustomed  to  see  him 
wearing  it  indoors  and  out  during  the 
twenty  years  of  their  married  life, — 
pushed  back  for  meals  or  smoking,  but 
always  on  his  head,  except  in  bed ;  and 
even  there,  report  says,  on  cold  winter 
nights,  he  had  recourse  to  it  to  keep  off 
the  draught  from  that  cracked  pane  in 
the  window.  His  face,  like  his  wife's, 
was  weather-beaten,  and  of  the  same 
broad,  flat  type  as  hers,  with  small,  sur- 
prised, dazzled-looking,  pale  blue  eyes, 
and  a  tangle  of  grizzled  light  hair  under 
his  chin.  He  was  noticeable  for  the 
green  smock-frock  he  wore, — a  garment 
which  is  so  rapidly  disappearing  before 
the  march  of  civilization,  and  giving 
place  to  the  ill-cut,  ill-made  coat  of 
shoddy  cloth  which  is  fondly  thought  to 
resemble  the  squire's. 

The  christening  party  was  completed 


8  Zoe. 

by  -fl,  hobble-de-hoy  lad  of  about  sixteen, 
who  tried  to  cover  his  invincible  shyness 
by  a  grin,  and  to  keep  his  foolish  eyes 
from  the  row  of  farm  boys  in  the  aisle, 
whose  critical  glances  he  felt  in  every 
pore.  He  was  so  like  both  father  and 
mother,  that  there  was  no  mistaking  his 
parentage ;  but  when  Mrs.  Gray  took  off 
the  shepherd's-plaid  shawl  in  which  the 
baby  was  wrapped,  such  a  little  dark 
head  and  swarthy  face  were  exposed  to 
view  as  might  have  made  intelligent 
spectators  (if  there  were  any  in  Down- 
side church  that  afternoon,  which  I 
doubt)  reflect  on  the  laws  of  heredity 
and  reversion  to  original  types. 

"Name  this  child I" 

The  clergyman  had  got  successfully 
through  his  business  with  the  roaring 
George  Augustus  and  the  whimpering 
Alberta  Florence,  and  had  now  the  little, 


Zoe.  9^ 

quiet,  brown-faced  baby  in  his  arms. 
Even  a  young  and  unmarried  man  was 
fain  to  confess  that  it  was  an  unusually 
pretty  little  face  that  lay  against  his 
surplice,  with  a  pointed  chin,  and  more 
eyebrows  and  lashes  than  most  young 
babies  possess,  and  with  dark  eyes  that 
looked  up  at  him  with  a  certain  intelli- 
gence, recognizable  even  to  an  unpreju- 
diced observer. 

"Name  this  child !" 

Mrs.  Gray  had  taken  advantage  of 
this  opportunity  to  mop  her  forehead 
with  her  blue-and-white  pocket  handker- 
chief, and  wrestled  with  her  bonnet's 
unconquerable  tendency  to  slip  off  be- 
hind, and  the  clergyman  passed  the  ques- 
tion on  to  her  husband,  who  fixed  his 
eye  on  a  bluebottle  buzzing  in  one  of  the 
windows,  and  jerked  out  what  sounded 
like  "Joe." 


10  Zoe. 

"I  thought  it  was  a  girl,"  whispered 
the  clergyman.  "Joe,  did  you  say  ?" 

"No,  it  ain't  that  'zactly.  Here, 
'Liza,  can't  you  tell  the  gentleman? 
You  knows  best  what  it  be." 

The  next  attempt  sounded  like  "Sue," 
and  the  clergyman  suggested  Susan  as 
the  name,  but  that  would  not  do. 

"Zola"  seemed  to  him,  though  not  a 
reader  of  French  novels,  unsuitable,  and 
"Zero,"  too,  he  could  not  quite  appre- 
ciate. 

"Dashun!  if  I  can  make  it  out,  an 
outlandish  sorter  name!"  said  Gray, 
with  a  terrible  inclination  to  put  on  his 
hat  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment, 
only  checked  by  a  timely  nudge  from 
his  wife's  elbow;  "here,  ain't  you  got  it 
wrote  down  somewheres?  Can't  you 
show  it  up  ?" 

And  after  a  lengthened  rummage  in 


Zoe.  11 

a  voluminous  pocket,  and  the  produc- 
tion of  several  articles  irrelevant  to  the 
occasion, — a  thimble,  a  bit  of  ginger, 
and  part  of  a  tract, — Mrs.  Gray  brought 
to  light  a  piece  of  paper,  on  which  was 
written  the  name  "Zoe." 

"Zoe,  I  baptize  thee — " 

A  sudden  crash  on  the  organ-pedals 
followed  these  words.  Mr.  Robins,  the 
organist,  had,  perhaps,  been  asleep  and 
let  his  foot  slip  on  to  the  pedals,  or, 
perhaps,  he  had  thought  there  was  no 
wind  in  the  instrument  and  that  he 
could  put  his  foot  down  with  impunity. 
He  was  plainly  very  much  ashamed  of 
himself  for  what  had  happened,  and  it 
was  only  right  that  he  should  be,  for  of 
course  it  made  all  the  school  children 
giggle  and  a  good  many  of  their  elders, 
too,  who  should  have  known  better. 

The  boy  who  blew  the  organ  declared 


12  Zoe. 

that  he  turned  quite  red  and  bent  his 
head  over  the  keys  as  if  he  were  exam- 
ining something  on  them,  and  he  was 
evidently  nervous  and  upset,  for  he 
made  ever  so  many  mistakes  in  the  con- 
cluding part  of  the  service,  and  to  the 
great  surprise  and  to  the  satisfaction 
of  the  blower,  cut  the  voluntary  at  the 
end  unusually  short,  ending  it  in  an 
abrupt  and  discordant  way,  which,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  the  blower  described  as 
"a  'owl,"  though  any  shock  that  the 
boy's  musical  taste  sustained  was  com- 
pensated for  by  the  feeling  that  he  would 
be  at  home  at  least  ten  minutes  earlier 
than  usual  to  tea. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  Mr.  Robins 
was  in  the  vestry  when  the  christening 
party  came  in  to  give  the  particulars 
about  the  babies  to  be  entered  in  the 
register.  He  had  come  to  fetch  a  music- 


Zoe.  13 

book,  which,  however,  it  appeared  after 
all  had  been  left  at  home ;  but  the  clergy- 
man was  glad  of  his  help  in  making  out 
the  story  of  the  little  Zoe  who  had  just 
been  baptized. 

I  have  spoken  before  of  intelligent  ob- 
servers noticing  and  drawing  arguments 
from  the  entire  want  of  likeness  between 
Zoe  and  her  parents;  but  all  the  ob- 
servers on  this  occasion,  whether  intel- 
ligent or  not,  with  the  exception  of  the 
officiating  clergyman,  were  quite  aware 
that  Zoe  was  not  the  Grays'  baby,  but 
was  a  foundling  child  picked  up  one 
night  by  Gray  in  his  garden. 

Of  her  antecedents  nothing  was 
known,  and,  of  course,  any  sensible  peo- 
ple would  have  sent  her  to  the  work- 
house,— everyone  agreed  on  this  point 
and  told  the  Grays  so ;  and  yet,  I  think, 
half  the  women  who  were  so  positive 


14  Zoe. 

and  severe  on  Mrs.  Gray's  folly  would 
have  done  just  the  same. 

We  do  not  half  of  us  know  how  kind- 
hearted  we  are  till  we  are  tried,  or  per- 
haps it  is  our  foolishness  that  we  do  not 
realize. 

Gray  was  only  a  laborer  with  twelve 
shillings  a  week  and  a  couple  of  pounds 
more  at  harvest,  and,  of  course,  in  bad 
weather  there  was  no  work  and  no  wages, 
which  is  the  rule  among  the  agricultu- 
ral laborers  about  Downside,  as  in  many 
other  parts,  so  it  did  not  present  itself  as 
a  grievance  to  Gray's  mind,  though,  to 
be  sure,  in  winter  or  wet  seasons  it  was 
a  hard  matter  to  get  along.  But  it  was 
neighbors'  fare,  and  none  of  them  felt 
hardly  used,  for  Farmer  Benson,  what 
with  bad  seasons  and  cattle  plague,  was 
not  much  better  off  than  they  were,  and 
the  men  knew  it. 


Zoe.  15 

But  out  of  these  wages  it  was  hardly 
to  be  expected  of  the  most  provident  of 
people  that  anything  could  be  laid  by 
for  old  age  or  a  rainy  day ;  indeed,  there 
seemed  so  many  rainy  days  in  the  pres- 
ent that  it  was  not  easy  to  give  much 
thought  to  those  in  the  future.  Of 
course,  too,  the  local  provident  club  had 
come  to  utter  and  hopeless  grief.  Is 
there  any  country  place  where  this  has 
not  been  the  case  ?  Gray  had  paid  into 
it  regularly  for  years  and  had  gone 
every  Whitmonday  to  its  dinner,  his  one 
voluntary  holiday  during  the  year,  on 
which  occasion  he  took  too  much  beer 
as  a  sort  of  solemn  duty  connected  with 
his  membership.  When  it  collapsed  he 
was  too  old  to  join  another  club,  and  so 
was  left  stranded.  He  bore  it  very 
philosophically;  indeed,  I  think  it  was 
only  on  Whitmonday  that  he  felt  it  at 


16  Zoe. 

all,  as  it  seemed  strange  and  unnatural 
to  go  to  bed  quite  sober  on  that  day  as 
he  did  on  all  other  days  of  the  year. 

On  all  other  occasions  he  was  a  thor- 
oughly sober  man,  perhaps,  however, 
more  from  necessity  than  choice,  as  the 
beer  supplied  by  Farmer  Benson  in  the 
hayfield  was  of  a  quality  on  which,  as 
the  men  said,  you  got  "no  forrarder" 
if  you  drank  a  hogshead,  and  Gray  had 
no  money  to  spare  from  the  necessaries 
of  life  to  spend  on  luxury,  even  the 
luxury  of  getting  drunk. 

He  was  in  one  way  better  off  than 
his  neighbors  from  a  worldly  point  of 
view,  in  that  he  had  not  a  large  family, 
as  most  of  them  were  blessed  with ;  for 
children  are  a  blessing,  a  gift  and  her- 
itage that  cometh  of  the  Lord,  even 
when  they  cluster  round  a  cold  hearth 
and  a  scanty  board.  But  Gray  had  only 


Zoe.  17 

two  sons,  the  elder  of  whom,  Tom,  we 
have  seen  at  Zoe's  christening,  and  who 
had  been  at  work  four  years,  having 
managed  at  twelve  to  scramble  into  the 
fifth  standard,  and  at  once  left  school 
triumphantly,  and  now  can  neither  read 
nor  write,  having  clean  forgotten  every- 
thing drummed  into  his  head,  but  earns 
three  shillings  and  sixpence  a  week  go- 
ing along  with  Farmer  Benson's  horses, 
from  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  till 
six  in  the  evening, — the  long  wet  fur- 
rows and  heavy  ploughed  land  having 
made  havoc  of  his  legs,  as  such  work 
does  with  most  plough-boys. 

The  younger  boy,  Bill,  is  six  years 
younger  and  still  at  school,  and,  having 
been  a  delicate  child,  or  as  his  mother 
puts  it,  "enjoying  bad  health,"  is  not 
promising  for  farm-work;  and,  being 
fond  of  his  book  and  a  favorite  at  school, 


18  Zoe. 

his  mother  cherishes  hopes  of  his  be- 
coming a  school-teacher  in  days  to  come. 

But  such  is  the  perversity  of  human 
nature  that,  though  many  a  Downside 
mother  with  a  family  of  little  steps  en- 
vied Mrs.  Gray  her  compact  family  and 
the  small  amount  of  washing  attached 
to  it,  that  ungrateful  woman  yearned 
after  an  occupant  for  the  old  wooden 
cradle,  and  treasured  up  the  bits  of  baby 
things  that  had  belonged  to  Tom  and 
Bill,  and  nursed  up  any  young  thing 
that  came  to  hand  arid  wanted  care, — 
bringing  up  a  motherless  blind  kitten 
with  assiduous  care  and  patience,  as  if 
the  supply  of  that  commodity  was  not 
always  largely  in  excess  of  the  demand, 
and  lavishing  more  care  on  a  sick  lamb 
or  a  superfluous  young  pig  than  most 
of  the  neighbors'  babies  received. 

So  when  one  evening  in  May  Gray 


Zoe.  19 

came  in  holding  a  bundle  in  his  arms 
and  poked  it  into  her  lap  as  she  sat 
darning  the  holes  in  Tom's  stockings 
(she  was  not  good  at  needlework,  but 
she  managed,  as  she  said,  to  "goblify" 
the  holes),  he  knew  pretty  well  that  it 
was  into  no  unwilling  arms  that  he  gave 
the  baby. 

"And  a  mercy  it  was  as  the  darning- 
needle  didn't  run  right  into  the  little 
angel,"  Mrs.  Gray  always  said  in  re- 
counting the  story. 

He  had  been  down  to  the  village  to 
fetch  some  tobacco,  for  the  Grays'  cot- 
tage was  right  away  from  the  village, 
up  a  lane  leading  on  to  the  hillside,  and 
there  were  no  other  cottages  near.  Tom 
was  in  bed,  though  it  was  not  eight  yet, 
but  he  was  generally  ready  for  bed 
when  he  had  had  his  tea ;  and  Bill  was 
up  on  the  hill,  a  favorite  resort  of  his, 


20  Zoe. 

and  especially  when  it  was  growing  dark 
and  the  great  indigo  sky  spread  over 
him,  with  the  glory  of  the  stars  coming 
out. 

"He  never  were  like  other  lads,"  his 
mother  used  to 'say  with  a  mixture  of 
pride  and  irritation;  "always  mooning 
about  by  himself  on  them  old  hills." 

The  cottage  door  stood  open,  as  it 
always  did,  and  Mrs.  Gray  sat  there, 
plainly  to  be  seen  from  the  lane,  with 
Tom's  gray  stocking  and  her  eyes  and 
the  tallow  candle  as  near  together  as 
possible.  She  did  not  hear  a  sound, 
though  she  was  listening  for  Bill's  re- 
turn, and  even  though  Tom's  snores  pen- 
etrated the  numerous  crevices  in  the 
floor  above,  they  were  hardly  enough  to 
drown  other  sounds. 

So  there  was  no  knowing  when  the 
bundle  was  laid  just  inside  the  cottage 


Zoe.  21 

gate  not  quite  in  the  middle  of  the  brick 
path,  but  on  one  side  against  the  box 
edging,  where  a  clump  of  daffodils 
nodded  their  graceful  heads  over  the 
dark  velvet  polyanthus  in  the  border. 
Gray  nearly  stepped  upon  the  bundle, 
having  large  feet  and  the  way  of  walk- 
ing which  covers  a  good  deal  of  ground 
to  right  and  left,  a  way  which  plough- 
driving  teaches. 

Mrs.  Gray  heard  an  exclamation. 

"Dashun !"  was,  I  think,  Gray's  fa- 
vorite ejaculation,  which  I  am  afraid  is 
an  imprecation,  but  of  a  mild  order, 
and  may  perhaps  be  allowed  to  pass, 
as  expletives  of  some  kind  seem  a  neces- 
sity to  human  nature. 

And  then  Gray  came  in,  and,  as  I 
have  said,  did  his  best  to  impale  the 
bundle,  baby  and  all,  on  the  top  of  his 
wife's  darning-needle. 


22  Zoe. 

CHAPTER  II. 

The  organist  of  Downside,  Mr. 
Robins,  lived  in  a  little  house  close  to 
the  church. 

Mr.  Clifford,  the  vicar,  was  accounted 
very  lucky  by  the  neighboring  clergy 
for  having  such  a  man,  and  not  being 
exposed  to  all  the  vagaries  of  a  young 
schoolmaster,  or,  perhaps  still  worse, 
schoolmistress,  with  all  the  latest 
musical  fancies  of  the  training  colleges. 
Neither  had  he  to  grapple  with  the 
tyranny  of  the  leading  bass  nor  the  con- 
ceit and  touchiness  that  seems  insepara- 
ble from  the  tenor  voice,  since  Mr.  Rob- 
ins kept  a  firm  and  sensible  hand  on 
the  reins,  and  drove  that  generally  un- 
manageable team,  a  village  choir,  with 
the  greatest  discretion. 

But  when  Mr.  Clifford  was  compli- 


Zoe.  23 

mented  by  his  friends  on  the  possession 
of  such  a  treasure,  he  accepted  their 
remarks  a  little  doubtfully,  being  some- 
times inclined  to  think  that  he  would 
almost  rather  have  had  a  less  excellent 
choir  and  have  had  some  slight  voice  in 
the  matter  himself. 

Mr.  Kobins  imported  a  certain  solem- 
nity into  the  musical  matters  of  Down- 
side, which  of  course  was  very  desirable 
as  far  as  the  church  services  were  con- 
cerned ;  but  when  it  came  to  penny- 
readings  and  village  concerts,  Mr.  Clif- 
ford and  some  of  the  parishioners  were 
disposed  to  envy  the  pleasant  ease  of 
such  festivities  in  other  parishes,  where, 
though  the  music  was  very  inferior,  the 
enjoyment  of  both  performers  and  au- 
dience was  far  greater. 

Mr.  Eobins,  for  one  thing,  set  his  face 
steadily  against  comic  songs;  and  Mr. 


24  Zoe. 

Clifford  in  his  inmost  heart  had  an  un- 
grateful ambition  to  sing  a  certain  song 
called  "The  Three  Little  Pigs,"  with 
which  Mr.  Wilson  in  the  next  parish 
simply  brought  down  the  house  on  sev- 
eral occasions ;  though  Mr.  Clifford  felt 
he  by  no  means  did  full  justice  to  it, 
especially  in  the  part  where  the  old 
mother  "waddled  about,  saying  'Umph ! 
Umph!  UmphP  while  the  little  ones 
said  'Wee !  Wee  !'  "  To  be  sure,  Mr. 
Wilson  suffered  for  months  after  these 
performances  from  outbursts  of  grunt- 
ing among  his  youthful  parishioners  at 
sight  of  him,  and  even  at  the  Sunday- 
school  one  audacious  boy  had  given  vent 
on  one  occasion  to  an  "Umph !"  very 
true  indeed  to  nature,  but  not  conducive 
to  good  behavior  in  his  class.  But  Mr. 
Clifford  did  not  know  the  after  effects  of 
Mr.  Wilson's  vocal  success. 


Zoe.  25 

Likewise  Mr.  Robins  selected  very 
simple  music,  and  yet  exacted  an  amount 
of  practising  unheard  of  at  Bilton  or 
Stokeley,  where,  after  one  or  two  at- 
tempts, they  felt  competent  to  face  a 
crowded  school-room,  and  yell  or  growl 
out  such  choruses  as  "The  Heavens  Are 
Telling"  or  "The  Hallelujah  Chorus," 
with  a  lofty  indifference  to  tune  or  time, 
and  with  their  respective  schoolmasters 
banging  away  at  the  accompaniment 
within  a  bar  or  two  of  the  singers,  all 
feeling  quite  satisfied  if  they  finished 
up  all  together  on  the  concluding  chord 
or  thereabouts,  flushed  and  triumphant, 
with  perspiration  standing  on  their  fore- 
heads, and  an  expression  of  honest  pride 
on  their  faces,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"There's  for  you.  What  do  you  think 
of  that?" 

If  success  is  to  be  measured  by  ap- 


26  Zoe. 

plause,  there  is  no  doubt  these  perform- 
ances were  most  successful,  far  more 
so  than  the  accurately  rendered  "Hardy 
Norseman"  or  "Men  of  Harlech"  at 
Downside,  in  which  lights  and  shades, 
pianos  and  fortes  were  carefully  ob- 
served, and  any  attempt  on  any  one's 
part,  even  the  tenors,  to  distinguish 
themselves  above  the  others  was  instant- 
ly suppressed.  The  result,  from  a  mu- 
sical point  of  view,  was  no  doubt  satis- 
factory ;  but  the  applause  was  of  a  very 
moderate  character,  and  never  accom- 
panied by  those  vociferous  "angcores" 
which  are  so  truly  gratifying  to  the  soul 
of  musical  artistes. 

Mr.  Robins  was  a  middle-aged  man, 
looking  older  than  he  really  was,  as  his 
hair  was  quite  white.  He  had  some 
small  independent  means  of  his  own, 
which  he  supplemented  by  his  small 


Zoe.  27 

salary  as  organist,  and  by  giving  a  few 
music  lessons  in  the  neighborhood.  He 
had  been  in  his  earlier  years  a  vicar- 
choral  at  one  of  the  cathedrals,  and  had 
come  to  Downside  twenty  years  ago, 
after  the  death  of  his  wife,  bringing  with 
him  his  little  girl,  in  whom  he  was  en- 
tirely wrapt  up. 

He  spoilt  her  so  persistently,  and  his 
housekeeper,  Mrs.  Sands,  was  so  gentle 
and  meek-spirited,  that  the  effect  on  a 
naturally  self-willed  child  can  easily  be 
imagined ;  and  as  she  grew  up,  she  be- 
came more  and  more  uncontrollable. 
She  was  a  pretty,  gypsy-looking  girl,  in- 
heriting her  sweet  looks  from  her  mother 
and  her  voice  and  musical  taste  from  her 
father.  There  was  more  than  one  young 
farmer  in  the  neighborhood  who  cast 
admiring  glances  toward  the  corner  of 
the  church  near  the  organ  where  the 


28  Zoe. 

organist's  pretty  daughter  sat,  and  slack- 
ened the  pace  of  his  horse  as  he  passed 
the  clipped  yew-hedge  by  the  church,  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  her  in  the  bright  little 
patch  of  garden,  or  to  hear  her  clear, 
sweet  voice  singing  over  her  work. 

But  people  said  Mr.  Robins  thought 
no  one  good  enough  for  her,  and  though 
he  himself  had  come  of  humble  parent- 
age, and  in  no  way  regarded  himself  nor 
expected  to  be  regarded  as  a  gentleman, 
it  was  generally  understood  that  no  suit- 
or except  a  gentleman  would  be  accept- 
able for  Edith. 

And  so  it  took  everyone  by  surprise, 
and  no  one  more  so  than  her  father, 
when  the  girl  took  up  with  Martin 
Blake,  the  son  of  the  blacksmith  in  the 
next  village,-  who  might  be  seen  most 
days  with  a  smutty  face  and  leather 
apron  hammering  away  at  the  glowing 


Zoe.  29 

red  metal  on  the  anvil.  It  would  have 
been  well  for  him  if  he  had  only  been 
seen  thus,  with  the  marks  of  honest  toil 
about  him ;  but  Martin  Blake  was  too 
often  to  be  seen  at  the  "Crown,"  and 
often  in  a  state  that  any  one  who  loved 
him  would  have  grieved  to  see ;  and  he 
was  always  to  be  found  at  any  race 
meetings  and  steeplechases  and  fairs  in 
the  neighborhood,  and  report  said  was  by 
no  means  choice  in  his  company. 

To  be  sure  he  was  good-looking  and 
pleasant-mannered,  and  had  a  sort  of 
rollicking,  light-hearted  way  with  him 
which  wTas  very  attractive;  but  still  it 
seemed  little  short  of  infatuation  on  the 
part  of  Edith  Robins  to  take  up  with 
a  man  whose  character  was  so  well 
known,  and  who  was  in  every  way  her 
inferior  in  position  and  education. 

~No  doubt  Mr.  Robins  was  very  inju- 


30  Zoe. 

dicious  in  his  treatment  of  her  when  he 
found  out  what  was  going  on,  and  as 
this  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  that 
Edith's  wishes  had  been  crossed,  it  was 
not  likely  that  she  would  yield  without  a 
struggle.  The  mere  fact  of  opposition 
seemed  to  deepen  what  was  at  first  mere- 
ly an  ordinary  liking  into  an  absorbing 
passion.  It  was  perfectly  useless  to 
reason  with  her ;  she  disbelieved  all  the 
stories  to  his  discredit,  which  were 
abundant,  and  treated  those  who  repeat- 
ed them  as  prejudiced  and  ill-natured. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Mr.  Robins  by 
turns  entreated  and  commanded  her  to 
give  him  up,  her  father's  distress  or 
anger  alike  seemed  indifferent  to  her; 
and  when  he  forbade  Martin  to  come 
near  the  place  and  kept  her  as  much  as 
possible  under  his  eye  to  prevent  meet- 
ings between  them,  it  only  roused  in  her 


Zoe.  31 

a  more  obstinate  determination  to  have 
her  own  way  in  spite  of  him.  She  was 
missing  one  morning  from  the  little  bed- 
room which  Mrs.  Sands  loved  to  keep  as 
dainty  and  pretty  as  a  lady's,  and  from 
the  garden  where  the  roses  and  gerani- 
ums did  such  credit  to  her  care,  and 
from  her  place  in  the  little  church 
where  her  prayer-book  still  lay  on  the 
desk  as  she  had  left  it  the  day  before. 

She  had  gone  off  with  Martin  Blake 
to  London,  without  a  word  of  sorrow  or 
farewell  to  the  father  who  had  been  so 
foolishly  fond  of  her,  or  to  the  home 
where  her  happy  petted  childhood  had 
passed.  It  nearly  broke  her  father's 
heart;  it  made  an  old  man  of  him  and 
turned  his  hair  white,  and  it  seemed 
to  freeze  or  petrify  all  his  kindliness 
and  human  sympathy. 

He  was  a  proud,  reserved  man,  and 


32  Zoe. 

could  not  bear  the  pity  that  every  one 
felt  for  him,  or  endure  the  well-meant 
but  injudicious  condolences,  mixed  with 
"I  told  you  so"  and  "I've  thought  for 
a  long  time,"  which  the  neighbors  were 
so  liberal  with.  Even  Mr.  Clifford's 
attempts  at  consolation  he  could  hardly 
bring  himself  to  listen  to  courteously, 
and  Jane  Sands'  tearful  eyes  and  quiver- 
ing voice  irritated  him  beyond  all  en- 
durance. If  there  had  been  any  one  to 
whom  he  could  have  talked  unrestrain- 
edly and  let  out  all  the  pent-up  disap- 
pointment and  wounded  love  and  tor- 
tured pride  that  surged  and  boiled  with- 
in him,  he  might  have  got  through  it 
better,  or  rather  it  might  have  raised 
him,  as  rightly  borne  troubles  do,  above 
his  poor,  little,  pitiful  self,  and  nearer 
to  God ;  but  this  was  just  what  he  could 
not  do. 


Zoe.  33 

He  came  nearest  it  sometimes  in 
those  long  evenings  of  organ  playing,  of 
the  length  of  which  poor  little  Jack 
Davis,  the  blower,  so  bitterly  com- 
plained, when  the  long  sad  notes  wailed 
and  sobbed  through  the  little  church  like 
the  voice  of  a  weary,  sick  soul  making 
its  complaint.  But  even  so,  he  could 
not  tell  it  all  to  God,  though  he  had  been 
given  that  power  of  expression  in  music 
which  must  make  it  easier  to  those  so 
gifted  to  cry  unto  the  Lord. 

But  the  music  wailed  itself  into  si- 
lence, and  Jack  in  his  corner  by  the 
bellows  waited  terror-struck  at  the 
"unked"  sounds  and  the  darkening 
church,  till  he  ventured  at  last  to  ask: 
"Be  I  to  blow,  Mister?  I'm  kinder 
skeered  like." 

So  the  organist's  trouble  turned  him 
bitter  and  hard,  and  changed  his  love 


34  Zoe. 

for  his  daughter  into  cold  resentment; 
he  would  not  have  her  name  mentioned. 
in  his  presence,  and  he  refused  to  open 
a  letter  she  sent  him  a  few  weeks  after 
her  marriage,  and  bid  Jane  Sands  send 
it  back  if  she  knew  the  address  of  the 
person  who  sent  it. 

On  her  side  Edith  was  quite  as  obsti- 
nate and  resentful.  She  had  no  idea  of 
humbling  herself  and  asking  pardon. 
She  thought  she  had  quite  a  right  to  do 
as  she  liked,  and  she  believed  her  father 
would  be  too  unhappy  without  her  to 
bear  the  separation  long.  She  very 
soon  found  out  the  mistake  she  had 
made, — indeed,  even  in  the  midst  of  her 
infatuation  about  Martin  Blake,  I  think 
there  lurked  a  certain  distrust  of  him, 
and  they  had  not  been  married  many 
weeks — I  might  almost  say  days — before 
this  distrust  was  more  than  realized. 


Zoe.  35 

His  feelings  toward  her,  too,  had 
been  more  flattered  vanity  at  being  pre- 
ferred by  such  a  superior  sort  of  girl 
than  any  deeper  feeling,  and  vanity  is 
not  a  sufficiently  lasting  foundation  for 
married  happiness,  especially  when  the 
cold  winds  of  poverty  blow  on  the  edi- 
fice, and  when  the  superior  sort  of  girl 
has  not  been  brought  up  to  anything 
useful,  and  cannot  cook  the  dinner,  or 
iron  a  shirt,  or  keep  the  house  tidy. 

When  his  father,  the  old  blacksmith 
at  Bilton,  died  six  months  after  they 
were  married,  Martin  wished  to  come 
back  and  take  up  the  work  there,  more 
especially  as  work  was  hard  to  get  in 
London  and  living  dear;  but  Edith 
would  not  hear  of  it,  and  opposed  it  so 
violently  that  she  got  her  way,  though 
Martin  afterwards  maintained  that  this 
decision  was  the  ruin  of  him,  occasion- 


36  Zoe. 

ally  dating  his  ruin  six  months  earlier, 
from  his  wedding.  Perhaps  he  was 
right,  and  he  might  have  settled  down 
steadily  in  the  old  home  and  among  the 
old  neighbors  in  spite  of  his  fine-lady 
wife;  but  when  he  said  so,  Edith  was 
quick  to  remember  and  cast  up  at  him 
the  stories  which  she  had  disbelieved  and 
ignored  before,  to  prove  in  their  constant 
wranglings  that  place  and  neighborhood 
had  nothing  to  do  with  his  idleness  and 
unsteadiness.  No  one  ever  heard  much 
of  these  five  years  in  London,  for  Edith 
wrote  no  more  after  that  letter  was  re- 
turned. 

Those  five  years  made  little  difference 
at  Downside,  except  in  Mr.  Kobins' 
white  hair  and  set,  lined  face ;  the  little 
house  behind  the  yew-hedge  looked  just 
the  same,  and  Jane  Sands'  kind,  placid 
face  was  still  as  kind  and  placid.  Some 


Zoe.  37 

of  the  girls  had  left  school  and  gone  to 
service ;  some  of  the  lads  had  developed 
into  hobble-de-hoys  and  came  to  church 
with  walking-sticks  and  well-oiled  hair ; 
one  or  two  of  the  old  folks  had  died; 
one  or  two  more  white-headed  babies 
crawled  about  the  cottage  floors;  but 
otherwise  Downside  was  just  the  same 
as  it  had  been  five  years  before,  when, 
one  June  morning,  a  self-willed  girl  had 
softly  opened  the  door  under  the  honey- 
dewy  garden,  where  the  birds  were  call- 
ing such  a  glad  good-morning  as  she 
passed  to  join  her  lover  in  the  lane. 

But  the  flame  of  life  burns  quicker 
and  fiercer  in  London  than  at  Down- 
side, for  that  same  girl,  coming  back 
after  only  five  years  in  London,  was  so 
changed  and  aged  and  altered  that — 
though,  to  be  sure,  she  came  in  the  dusk 
and  was  muffled  up  in  a  big  shawl — no 


38  Zoe. 

one  recognized  her,  or  thought  for  a 
moment  of  pretty,  coquettish,  well- 
dressed  Edith  Kobins,  when  the  weary, 
shabby-looking  woman  passed  them  by. 
She  had  lingered  a  minute  or  two  by 
the  churchyard  gate,  though  tramps,  for 
such  her  worn-out  boots  and  muddy 
skirts  proclaimed  her,  do  not  as  a  rule 
care  for  such  music  as  sounded  out 
from  the  church  door,  where  Mr.  Kobins 
was  consoling  himself  for  the  irritation 
of  choir-practice  by  ten  minutes'  play- 
ing. It  was  soon  over,  and  Jack  Davis, 
still  blower,  and  not  much  taller  than  he 
was  five  years  before,  charged  out  in  the 
rebound  from  the  tension  of  long  blow- 
ing, and  nearly  knocked  over  the  woman 
standing  by  the  churchyard  gate  in  the 
shadow  of  the  yew-tree,  and  made  the 
baby  she  held  in  her  arms  give  a  feeble 
cry. 


Zoe.  39 

"Now,  then,  out  of  the  way!"  he 
shouted  in  that  unnecessarily  loud  voice 
boys  assume  after  church,  perhaps  to 
try  if  their  lungs  are  still  capable  of 
producing  such  a  noise  after  enforced 
silence. 

The  woman  made  no  answer,  but  after 
the  boy  had  run  off  went  in  and  waited 
in  the  porch  till  the  sound  of  turning 
keys  announced  that  the  organist  was 
closing  the  organ  and  church  for  the 
night.  But  as  his  footsteps  drew  near 
on  the  stone  pavement  she  started  and 
trembled  as  if  she  had  been  afraid,  and 
when  he  came  out  into  the  porch  she 
shrank  away  into  the  shadows  as  if  she 
wished  to  be  unobserved.  He  might 
easily  have  passed  her,  for  it  was  nearly 
dark  from  the  yew-tree  and  the  row  of 
elms  that  shut  out  the  western  sky, 
where  the  sunset  was  just  dying  away. 


40  Zoe. 

His  mind,  too,  was  occupied  with  other 
things,  and  he  was  humming  over  the 
verse  of  a  hymn  the  boys  had  been  sing- 
ing, "Far  From  My  Heavenly  Home." 
There  was  no  drilling  into  them  the 
proper  rendering  of  the  last  pathetic 
words — 

"Oh  guide  me  through  the  desert  here, 
And  bring  me  home  at  last." 

He  quite  started  when  a  hand  was 
laid  upon  his  arm,  and  a  voice,  changed 
indeed  and  weak,  but  still  the  voice  that 
in  old  days — not  so  very  old,  either — 
was  the  one  voice  for  him  in  all  the 
world,  said  "Father !" 

I  think  just  for  one  minute  his  im- 
pulse was  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and 
forget  the  ingratitude  and  desertion  and 
deceit,  like  the  father  in  the  parable 
whose  heart  went  out  to  the  poor  prodi- 
gal while  he  was  yet  a  long  way  off ;  but 


Zoe.  41 

the  next  moment  the  cold,  bitter,  resent- 
ful feelings  quenched  the  gentler  im- 
pulse, and  he  drew  away  his  arm  from 
her  detaining  hold,  and  passed  on  along 
the  flagged  path  as  if  he  were  uncon- 
scious of  her  presence, — and  this  on  the 
very  threshold  of  His  house  who  so  piti- 
fully forgives  the  debts  of  His  servants, 
forasmuch  as  they  have  not  to  pay. 

But  he  had  not  reached  the  church- 
yard gate  before  she  was  at  his  side 
again. 

"Stop,"  she  said,  "you  must  hear  me. 
It's  not  for  my  own  sake,  it's  the  child. 
It's  a  little  girl;  the  others  were  boys, 
and  I  didn't  mind  so  much;  if  they'd 
grown  up,  they  might  have  got  on  some- 
how,— but  there!  they're  safe,  anyhow 
— both  of  them  in  one  week,"  wailed  the 
mother's  voice,  protesting  against  her 
own  words  that  she  did  not  mind  about 


42  Zoe. 

them.  "But  this  is  a  girl,  and  not  a  bit 
like  him.  She's  like  me,  and  you  used 
to  say  I  was  like  mother.  She's  like 
mother,  I'm  sure  she  is.  There,  just 
look  at  her.  It's  so  dark,  but  you  can 
see  even  by  this  light  that  she's  not  like 
the  Blakes."  She  was  fumbling  to  draw 
back  the  shawl  from  the  baby's  head 
with  her  disengaged  hand,  while  with 
the  other  she  still  held  a  grip  on  his  arm 
that  was  almost  painful  in  its  pressure ; 
but  he  stood  doggedly  with  his  head 
turned  away,  and  gave  no  sign  of  hear- 
ing what  she  said. 

"He  left  me  six  months  ago,"  she 
went  on,  "and  I've  struggled  along  some- 
how. I  don't  want  ever  to  see  him 
again.  They  say  he's  gone  to  America, 
but  I  don't  care.  I  don't  mind  starving 
myself,  but  it's  the  little  girl.  Oh !  I've 
not  come  to  ask  you  to  take  me  in, 


Zoe.  43 

though  it  wouldn't  be  for  long,"  and  the 
wretched,  hollow  cough  that  had  inter- 
rupted her  words  once  or  twice  before 
broke  in  now  as  if  to  confirm  what  she 
said;  "if  you'd  just  take  the  child. 
She's  a  dear  little  thing  and  not  old 
enough  at  two  months  to  have  learnt  any 
harm,  and  Jane  Sands  would  be  good  to 
her,  I  know  she  would,  for  the  sake  of 
old  times.  And  I'll  go  away  and  never 
come  near  to  trouble  you  again — I'll 
promise  it.  Oh !  just  look  at  her !  If 
it  wasn't  so  dark  you'd  see  she  was  like 
mother.  Why,  you  can  feel  the  like- 
ness if  you  just  put  your  hand  on  her 
little  face;  often  in  the  night  I've  felt 
it,  and  I  never  did  with  the  boys.  She's 
very  good,  and  she's  too  little  to  fret 
after  me,  bless  her! — and  she'll  never 
know  anything  about  me,  and  needn't 
even  know  she  has  a  father,  and  he's 


44  Zoe. 

not  ever  likely  to  trouble  himself  about 
her.5' 

Her  voice  grew  more  and  more  plead- 
ing and  entreating  as  she  went  on,  for 
there  was  not  the  slightest  response  or 
movement  in  the  still  figure  before  her, 
less  movement  even  than  in  the  old  yew- 
tree  behind,  whose  smaller  branches, 
black  against  the  sky  where  the  orange 
of  the  sunset  was  darkening  into  dull 
crimson,  stirred  a  little  in  the  evening 
air. 

"Oh!  you  can't  refuse  to  take  her! 
See,  I'll  carry  her  as  far  as  the  door  so 
that  Jane  can  take  her,  and  then  I'll  go 
clear  away  and  never  come  near  her 
again.  You'll  have  her  christened, 
won't  you  ?  I've  been  thinking  all  the 
weary  way  what  she  should  be  called, 
and  I  thought,  unless  you  had  a  fancy 
for  any  other  name"  (a  little  stifled  sigh 


Zoe,  45 

at  the  thought  of  how  dear  one  name 
used  to  be  to  him),  "I  should  like  her  to 
be  Zoe.  Just  when  she  was  born,  and 
I  was  thinking,  thinking  of  you  and 
home  and  everything,  that  song  of  yours 
kept  ringing  in  my  head,  'Maid  of  Ath- 
ens,' and  the  last  line  of  every  verse  be- 
ginning with  Zoe.  I  can't  remember 
the  other  words,  but  I  know  you  said 
they  meant  'My  life,  I  love  you;'  and 
Zoe  was  life,  and  I  thought  when  I'm 
gone  my  little  girl  would  live  my  life 
over  again,  my  happy  old  life  with  you, 
and  make  up  to  you  for  all  the  trouble 
her  mother's  been  to  you." 

She  stopped  for  want  of  breath  and 
for  the  cough  that  shook  her  from  head 
to  foot,  and  at  last  he  turned ;  but  even 
in  that  dim  light  she  could  see  his  face 
plainly  enough  to  know  that  there  was 
no  favorable  answer  coming  from  those 


46  Zoe. 

hard-set  lips  and  from  those  cold, 
steady  eyes,  and  her  hand  dropped  from 
his  arm  even  before  he  spoke. 

"You  should  have  thought  of  this  five 
years  ago,"  he  said.  "I  do  not  see  that 
I  am  called  upon  to  support  Martin 
Blake's  family.  I  must  trouble  you  to 
let  me  pass." 

She  fell  back  against  the  trunk  of  the 
yew-tree  as  if  he  had  struck  her,  and  the 
movement  caused  the  baby  to  wake  and 
cry,  and  the  sound  of  its  little  wailing 
voice  followed  him  as  he  walked  down 
the  path  and  out  into  the  road ;  and  he 
could  hear  it  still  when  he  reached  his 
own  garden  gate,  where  through  the  open 
door  the  light  shone  out  from  the  lamp 
that  Jane  Sands  was  just  carrying  into 
his  room,  where  his  supper  was  spread 
and  his  arm-chair  and  slippers  awaited 
him. 


Zoe.  47 

In  after  days,  remembering  that  even- 
ing, he  fancied  he  had  heard  "Father" 
once  more  mingling  with  the  baby's  cry; 
but  he  went  in  and  shut  the  door  and 
drew  the  bolt,  and  went  into  the  cheer- 
ful, pleasant  room,  leaving  outside  the 
night  and  the  child's  cry  and  the  black 
shadow  of  the  church  and  the  yew-tree. 

It  was  only  the  beginning  of  the  an- 
noyance, he  told  himself;  he  must  ex- 
pect a  continued  course  of  persecution, 
and  he  listened,  while  he  made  a  pre- 
tence of  eating  his  supper,  for  the  steps 
outside  and  the  knock  at  the  door  which 
would  surely  renew  the  unwarrantable 
attempt  to  saddle  him  with  the  charge  of 
the  child.  He  listened,  too,  as  he  sat 
after  supper,  holding  up  the  newspaper 
in  front  of  his  unobservant  eyes;  and 
he  listened  most  of  the  night  as  he  tossed 
on  his  sleepless  pillow — listened  to  the 


48  Zoe. 

wind  that  had  risen  and  moaned  and 
sobbed  round  the  house  like  a  living 
thing  in  pain — listened  to  the  pitiless 
rain  that  followed,  pelting  down  on  the 
ivy  outside  and  on  the  tiles  above  his 
head  as  if  bent  on  finding  its  way  into 
the  warm,  comfortable  bed  where  he  lay. 


Zoe.  49 


CHAPTER  III. 

But  the  annoyance  for  which  Mr. 
Robins  had  been  preparing  himself  was 
not  repeated;  the  persecution,  if  such 
had  been  intended,  was  not  continued. 
As  the  days  passed  by  he  began  to  leave 
off  listening  and  lying  awake ;  he  came 
out  from  his  house  or  from  the  church 
without  furtive  glances  of  expectation 
to  the  right  and  left;  he  lost  that  con- 
stant feeling  of  apprehension  and  the 
necessity  to  nerve  himself  for  resistance. 
He  had  never  been  one  to  gossip  or  con- 
cern himself  with  other  people's  matters, 
and  Jane  Sands'  had  never  brought  the 
news  of  the  place  to  amuse  her  master 
as  many  in  her  place  would  have  done, 
so  now  he  had  no  way  of  knowing  if  his 
daughter's  return  had  been  known  in 

4 


50  Zoe. 

the  place  or  what  comments  the  neigh- 
bors passed  on  it. 

He  fancied  that  Jane  looked  a  little 
more  anxious  than  usual;  but  then  her 
sister  was  lying  ill  at  Stokeley  and  she 
was  often  there  with  her,  so  that  account- 
ed for  her  anxiety.  It  accounted,  too, 
for  her  being  away  one  evening  a  fort- 
night later,  when  Mr.  Robins,  coming  in 
in  the  dusk,  found  something  laid  on  his 
doorstep.  His  thoughts  had  been  other- 
wise occupied,  but  the  moment  his  eyes 
fell  on  the  shepherd's-plaid  shawl  wrap- 
ping the  bundle  at  his  feet,  he  knew 
what  it  was  and  recognized  a  renewed 
attempt  to  coerce  him  into  doing  what 
he  had  vowed  he  would  not.  He  saw  it 
all  in  a  minute,  and  understood  that  now 
Jane  Sands  was  in  the  plot  against  him, 
and  she  had  devised  this  way  of  putting 
the  child  in  his  path  because  she  was 


Zoe.  51 

afraid  to  come  to  him  openly  and  say 
what  she  wanted.  Perhaps  even  now 
she  was  watching,  expecting  to  see  him 
fall  into  the  trap  they  had  set  for  him ; 
but  they  should  find  they  were  very 
much  mistaken. 

His  first  resolution  was  to  fetch  the 
police  constable  and  get  him  to  take  the 
child  right  off  to  the  workhouse,  but  on 
second  thoughts  he  altered  his  purpose. 
Such  a  step  would  set  all  the  tongues 
in  the  place  wagging,  and,  little  as  he- 
cared  for  public  opinion,  it  would  not 
be  pleasant  for  everyone  to  be  telling 
how  he  had  sent  his  grandchild  to  the 
workhouse.  Grandchild?  Pshaw!  it 
was  Martin  Blake's  brat. 

The  child  was  sleeping  soundly, 
everything  was  quiet,  the  dusk  was  gath- 
ering thick  and  fast.  Why  should  he 
not  put  the  child  outside  some  other  cot- 


52  Zoe. 

tage,  and  throw  the  responsibility  of  dis- 
posing of  it  on  some  one  else,  and  be 
clear  of  it  himself  altogether?  The 
idea  shaped  itself  with  lightning  rapid- 
ity in  his  brain,  and  he  passed  quickly 
in  review  the  different  cottages  in  the 
place  and  their  inmates,  and,  in  spite  of 
his  indifference  to  Martin  Blake's  brat, 
he  selected  one  where  he  knew  a  kindly 
reception,  at  any  rate  for  the  night, 
would  be  given.  He  knew  more  about 
the  Grays  than  of  most  of  the  village 
people.  Bill  was  a  favorite  of  his,  and 
had  been  with  him  that  afternoon  after 
school  to  f  tch  a  book  Mr.  Robins  had 
promised  to  lend  him.  He  was  a  bright, 
intelligent  boy,  and  had  a  sweet  voice, 
and  the  organist  found  him  a  more  apt 
pupil  than  any  of  the  others,  and  had 
taken  some  pains  with  him,  and  when 
he  was  ill  the  winter  before  had  been 


Zoe.  53 

to  see  him,  and  so  had  come  to  know  his 
mother  and  her  liking  for  anything 
young  and  weak  and  tender. 

Their  cottage  was  at  some  distance, 
to  be  sure,  and  Mr.  Kobins  had  not  had 
much  to  do  with  babies  of  late  years  and 
was  a  little  distrustful  of  his  ability  to 
carry  one  so  far  without  rousing  it  and 
so  proclaiming  its  presence;  but  there 
was  a  path  across  the  fields  but  little 
frequented,  by  which  he  could  convey 
the  child  without  much  risk  of  being 
met  and  observed. 

And  now  the  great  thing  to  be  aimed 
at  was  to  carry  out  his  plan  as  quickly 
as  possible,  before  anyone  was  aware  of 
the  child  being  at  his  house,  and  he 
gathered  up  the  little  warm  bundle  as 
gingerly  as  he  knew  how,  and  was  on 
his  way  to  the  gate  when  the  sound  of 
approaching  steps  along  the  road  made 


54  Zoe. 

him  draw  back  and,  unlocking  the  door, 
carry  the  child  in.  The  steps  stopped 
at  the  gate  and  turned  in,  and  one  of  the 
choirmen  came  to  the  door. 

There  were  little  movements  and  soft 
grumblings  inside  the  shawl  in  the  or- 
ganist's arms,  and  he  turned  quite  cold 
with  apprehension. 

"Anyone  at  home  ?"  sounded  Millet's 
jovial  voice  at  the  open  door.  "Even- 
ing, Mr.  Kobins — are  you  there?  All 
in  the  dark,  eh  ?  I  wanted  a  couple 
of  words  with  you  about  that  song." 

"I'll  come  directly,"  sounded  the  or- 
ganist's voice,  with  a  curious  jogging 
effect  in  it,  such  as  Millet  was  used  to 
sometimes  in  his  conversations  with  his 
wife  at  the  children's  bedtime.  And 
then  Millet  heard  him  go  upstairs,  and 
it  was  some  minutes  before  he  came 
down  again,  and  then  in  such  a  queer, 


Zoe.  55 

absent  condition  that  if  it  had  been  any 
other  man  in  the  parish  than  Mr.  Rob- 
ins, whose  sobriety  was  unimpeachable, 
Millet  would  have  said  that  he  had  had 
a  drop  too  much. 

He  did  not  ask  him  in  or  strike  a 
light,  but  stood  at  the  door  answering 
quite  at  haphazard,  and  showing  such 
indifference  on  the  vital  question  of  a 
certain  song  suiting  Millet's  voice  that 
that  usually  good-natured  man  was  al- 
most offended. 

"Well,  I'll  wish  you  good-evening," 
he  said  at  last  (it  seemed  to  Robins  that 
he  had  been  hours  at  the  door)  ;  "per- 
haps you'll  just  think  it  over  and  let  me 
know.  Hullo !  is  that  a  cat  you  have 
up  there  ?  I  thought  I  heard  something 
squeal  out  just  them." 

Mr.  Robins  was  not  generally  given  to 
shaking  hands, — indeed,  some  of  the 


56  Zoe. 

choir  thought  he  was  too  much  stuck  up 
to  do  so ;  but  just  then  he  seized  Millet's 
hand  and  shook  it  quite  boisterously,  at 
the  same  time  advancing  with  the  ap- 
parent intention  of  accompanying  him 
in  a  friendly  manner  to  the  gate,  a 
movement  which  compelled  Millet  to 
back  in  the  same  direction,  and  cut  short 
his  farewell  remarks,  which  frequently 
lasted  for  ten  minutes  or  more.  And 
all  the  way  to  the  gate  Robins  was  talk- 
ing much  quicker  and  louder  than  was 
his  usual  custom,  and  he  ended  by  al- 
most pushing  Millet  out  at  the  gate,  all 
the  time  expressing  great  pleasure  at 
having  seen  him  and  pressing  him  to 
come  again  any  evening  he  could  spare 
the  time  and  have  a  pipe  and  a  bit  of 
supper  with  him — such  unheard-of  hos- 
pitality that  Millet  went  home  quite  per- 
suaded that  the  old  man  was,  as  he  ex- 


Zoe.  57 

pressed  it  to  his  wife,  "going  off  his 
chump ;"  so  that  it  was  quite  a  relief  to 
meet  him  two  days  later  at  the  choir 
practice  as  formal  and  distant  in  his 
manner  as  ever. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Robins  had  hastened 
back  to  his  bedroom  where  the  baby  lay 
asleep  on  his  bed,  for  it  had  been  really 
Jane  Sands'  cat  whose  voice  Millet 
heard  and  not,  as  Mr.  Robins  believed, 
the  waking  child's. 

It  was  quite  dark  up  there,  and  he 
could  only  feel  the  warm  little  heap  on 
his  bed,  but  he  struck  a  match  to  look  at 
it.  The  shawl  had  fallen  away,  show- 
ing its  little  dark  head  and  round  sleep- 
ing face,  with  one  little  fist  doubled  up 
against  its  cheek  and  half -open  mouth, 
and  the  other  arm  thrown  back,  the  tiny 
hand  lying  with  the  little  moist,  creased 
palm  turned  up. 


38  Zoe. 

"She's  like  mother,  I'm  sure  she  is." 
He  remembered  the  wards  and  scanned 
the  small  sleeping  face.  Well,  perhaps 
there  was  a  likeness,  the  eye-lashes  and 
the  gypsy  tint  of  the  complexion;  but 
just  then  the  match  went  out  and  the 
organist  remembered  there  was  no  time 
to  be  wasted  in  trying  to  see  likenesses 
in  Martin  Blake's  brat.  But  just  as  he 
was  lifting  the  baby  cautiously  from  his 
bed  a  sudden  thought  struck  him.  Zoe 
was  to  be  her  name ;  well,  it  should  be 
so,  though  he  had  no  concern  in  her 
name  or  anything  else ;  so  he  groped 
about  for  pencil  and  paper  and  wrote 
the  name  in  big  printing  letters  to  dis- 
guise his  hand  and  make  it  as  distinct 
as  possible,  though  even  so,  as  we  have 
seen  already,  the  name  caused  consider- 
able perplexity  to  the  sponsors.  And 
then  he  pinned  the  paper  on  the  shawl, 


Zoe.  59 

and  taking  the  child  in  his  arms  set  out 
across  the  field  to  the  Grays'  cottage. 

There  was  a  cold  air,  though  it  was  a 
May  night,  but  the  child  lay  warm 
against  him,  and  he  remembered  how 
its  mother  had  said  she  could  feel  the 
likeness  even  in  the  dark,  and  he  could 
not  resist  laying  his  cold  finger  on  the 
warm  little  cheek  under  the  shawl ;  and 
then,  angry  with  himself  for  the  throb 
that  the  touch  sent  to  his  heart,  hastened 
his  steps,  and  had  soon  reached  the 
Grays'  cottage  and  deposited  his  burden 
just  inside  the  gate,  where  a  few  min- 
utes after  Gray  found  it. 

He  could  see  Mrs.  Gray  plainly  as  she 
sat  at  her  work,  a  pleasant,  motherly 
face ;  but  he  did  not  linger  to  look  at  it, 
but  turned  away  and  retraced  his  steps 
along  the  field  path  home.  He  found 
himself  shivering  as  he  went;  the  air 


00  Zoe. 

seemed  to  have  grown  more  chilly  and 
penetrating  without  that  warm  burden 
against  his  heart,  and  the  unaccustomed 
weight  had  made  his  arms  tremble. 

Somehow  the  house  looked  dull  and 
uncomfortable,  though  Jane  Sands  had 
come  in  and  lighted  the  lamp,  and  was 
laying  his  supper.  Upstairs  there  was 
a  hollow  on  his  bed  where  something  had 
lain,  and  by  the  side  of  the  bed  he  found 
a  baby's  woollen  shoe,  which  might  have 
betrayed  him  to  Jane  if  she  had  gone 
upstairs.  But,  though  he  put  it  out  of 
sight  directly,  he  felt  sure  that  the  whole 
matter  was  no  secret  from  Jane,  and 
that  she  had  been  an  accomplice  in  the 
trick  that  had  been  played  on  him,  and 
he  smiled  to  himself  at  the  thought  of 
how  he  had  outwitted  her,  and  of  how 
puzzled  she  must  be  to  know  what  had 
become  of  the  baby. 


Zoe.  61 

He  did  his  best  to  appear  as  tranquil 
and  composed  as  usual,  as  if  nothing 
had  happened  to  disturb  the  ordinary 
current  of  his  lif e,  and  he  forced  himself 
to  make  a  few  remarks  on  indifferent 
subjects  when  she  came  into  the  room. 

She  had  evidently  been  crying,  and 
was  altogether  in  a  nervous  and  upset 
condition.  She  forgot  half  the  things 
he  wanted  at  supper,  and  her  hand 
trembled  so  that  she  nearly  overturned 
the  lamp.  More  than  once  she  stopped 
and  looked  at  him  as  if  she  were  nerving 
herself  to  speak,  and  he  knew  quite  well 
the  question  that  was  trembling  on  her 
lips — "Where  is  the  child?  Master, 
where  is  the  child  ?"  But  he  would  not 
help  her  in  any  way,  and  he  quite  ig- 
nored the  agitation  that  was  only  too 
evident ;  and  even  when  he  went  into 
the  kitchen  to  fetch  his  pipe,  and  found 


62  Zoe. 

her  with  her  face  buried  in  her  arms  on 
the  kitchen  table,  shaking  with  irre- 
pressible sobs,  he  retreated  softly  into 
the  passage  and  called  to  her  to  bring 
the  pipe,  and  when  after  a  long  delay  she 
brought  it  in,  he  was  apparently  ab- 
sorbed in  his  paper  and  took  no  notice  of 
her  tear-stained  face  and  quivering  lips. 

He  heard  her  stirring  far  into  the 
night,  and  once  she  went  into  the  little 
room  next  his  that  used  to  be  his  daugh- 
ter's and  which  no  one  had  used  since 
she  left,  and  in  the  silence  of  the  night 
again  he  could  hear  her  heart-breaking 
sobs  half-stifled. 

"Poor  soul !  poor  soul  !"•  he  said  to 
himself.  "She's  a  good  creature,  is 
Jane,  and  no  doubt  she's  bitterly  disap- 
pointed. I'll  make  it  up  to  her  some- 
how. She's  a  faithful,  good  soul !" 

He  was   restless   and  uncomfortable 


Zoe.  63 

himself,  and  he  told  himself  he  had 
taken  cold  and  was  a  bit  feverish.  It 
was  feverish  fancy,  no  doubt,  that  made 
him  think  the  hollow  where  the  child's 
light  weight  had  rested  was  still  percept- 
ible, but  this  fancy  outlasted  the  fever 
of  that  night  and  the  cold  that  caused  it, 
for  there  was  hardly  a  night  afterwards 
when  Mr.  Robins  did  not  detect  its  pres- 
ence, even  with  all  Jane  Sands'  thorough 
shaking  of  the  feather-bed  and  careful 
spreading  of  sheets  and  blankets.  If 
he  dropped  asleep  for  a  minute  that 
night  the  child  was  in  his  arms  again, 
heavy  as  lead,  weighing  him  down,  down 
into  some  unfathomable  gulf,  or  he  was 
feeling  for  it  in  the  dark,  and  its  face 
was  cold  as  death ;  and  more  than  once 
he  woke  with  a  start,  feeling  certain 
that  a  child's  cry  had  sounded  close  to 
his  bed. 


64  Zoe. 

CHAPTER   IV. 

There  is  certainly  a  penalty  paid  by 
people  who  keep  entirely  clear  of  gos- 
sip, though  it  is  not  by  any  means  in 
proportion  to  the  advantages  they  gain. 
The  penalty  is  that  when  they  particu- 
larly want  to  hear  any  piece  of  news, 
they  are  not  likely  to  hear  it  naturally 
like  other  people,  but  must  go  out  of 
their  way  to  make  inquiries  and  evince 
a  curiosity  which  at  once  makes  them 
remarkable. 

Now  everyone  in  the  village  except 
Mr.  Robins  heard  of  the  baby  found  in 
the  Grays'  garden,  and  discussed  how 
it  came  there,  but  it  was  only  by  over- 
hearing a  casual  word  here  and  there 
that  the  organist  gathered  even  so  much 
as  that  the  Grays  had  resolved  to  keep 
the  child,  and  were  not  going  to  send  it 


Zoe.  65 

to  the  workhouse.  Even  Bill  Gray 
knew  the  organist's  ways  too  well  to  trou- 
ble him  with  the  story,  though  he  was 
too  full  of  it  himself  to  give  his  usual 
attention  at  the  next  choir  practice,  and 
at  every  available  pause  between  chant 
and  hymn  his  head  and  that  of  the  boy 
next  him  were  close  together  in  deep 
discourse. 

It  had  occurred  to  Mr.  Robins'  mind, 
in  the  waking  moments  of  that  restless 
night,  that  there  might  have  been — nay, 
most  probably  was — some  mark  on  the 
child's  clothes  which  would  lead  to  its 
identification,  and  for  the  next  few  days 
every  glance  in  his  direction,  or  for  the 
matter  of  that  in  any  other  direction, 
was  interpreted  by  him  as  having  some 
covert  allusion  to  this  foundling  grand- 
child of  his;  but  the  conversation  of 
some  men  outside  his  yew-hedge,  which 


66  Zoe. 

he  accidentally  overheard  one  day,  get 
his  anxiety  at  rest. 

From  this  he  gathered  that  it  was 
generally  supposed  to  be  a  child  belong- 
ing to  a  gypsy  caravan  that  had  passed 
through  the  village  that  day. 

"And  I  says/'  said  one  of  the  men, 
with  that  slow,  emphatic  delivery  in 
which  the  most  ordinary  sentiments  are 
given  forth  as  if  they  were  wisdom  un- 
heard and  undreamt  of  before ;  "and  I 
don't  mind  who  hears  me,  as  Gray  did 
oughter  set  the  perlice  on  to  'un  to  find 
the  heartless  jade  as  did  'un." 

"Ay,  sure !  so  he  did  oughter ;  but  he 
ain't  no  gumption,  Gray  ain't;  never 
Lad,  neither,  as  have  known  him  man 
and  boy  these  fifty  year." 

"My  missus  says,"  went  on  the  first 
speaker,  "as  she  seed  a  gypsy  gal  with 
just  such  a  brat  as  this  on  her  arm.  She 


Zoe.  67 

come  round  to  parson's  back  door — my 
'Liza's  kitchen  gal  there  and  telled  her 
mother.  She  were  one  of  them  dressed- 
up  baggages  with  long  earrings  and  a 
yeller  handkercher  round  her  head, 
a-telling  fortunes;  coming  round  the 
poor,  silly  gals  with  her  long  tongue  and 
sly  ways.  She  went  in  here,  too."  Mr. 
.  Robins  guessed,  though  he  could  not  see, 
the  jerk  of  the  thumb  in  his  direction. 
"Mrs.  Sands  told  me  so  herself" — the 
organist's  listening  was  quickened  to  yet 
sharper  attention.  "She  says  she  had 
quite  a  job  to  get  rid  of  her,  and  thought 
she  were  after  the  spoons  belike.  But 
she  says  as  she'd  know  the  gal  again  any- 
wheres, and  my  missus  says  she'd  pret- 
ty near  take  her  davy  to  the  child, 
though,  as  I  says,  one  brat's  pretty  much 
like  another — haw!  haw! — though  the 
women  don't  think  it." 


68  Zoe. 

And  the  two  men  parted,  laughing 
over  this  excellent  joke. 

It  was  most  curious  how  that  little 
out-of-the-way  house  of  the  Grays  and  its 
unremarkable  inmates  had  suddenly  be- 
come conspicuous ;  the  very  cottage  was 
visible  from  all  directions — from  the 
churchyard  gate,  from  the  organist's 
garden,  from  various  points  along  the 
Stokeley  road ;  but  perhaps  this  may 
have  been  because  Mr.  Robins  had  never 
cared  to  identify  one  thatched  roof  from 
another  hitherto.  As  for  the  Grays, 
they  seemed  to  be  everywhere ;  that  man 
hoeing  in  the  turnip-field  was  Gray; 
that  boy  at  the  head  of  the  team  in  the 
big  yellow  wagon  was  Tom,  and  Bill 
seemed  to  be  all  over  the  place,  whistling 
along  the  road  or  running  round  the  cor- 
ner, or  waiting  to  change  his  book  at  the 
organist's  gate.  If  Mr.  Clifford  spoke 


Zoe.  69 

to  Mr.  Kobins  it  was  about  something  to 
do  with  the  Grays,  and  even  Mr.  Wilson 
of  Stokeley  stopped  him  in  the  road  to 
ask  if  some  people  called  Gray  lived  at 
Downside.  It  was  most  extraordinary 
how  these  people,  so  insignificant  a  week 
ago,  were  now  brought  into  prominence. 

Even  before  Mr.  Kobins  had  over- 
heard that  conversation  he  had  had  a 
fidgety  sort  of  wish  to  go  up  to  the 
Grays'  cottage,  and  now  he  made  a  pre- 
text of  asking  for  a  book  he  had  lent  Bill, 
but  went  before  the  school  came  out,  so 
that  only  Mrs.  Gray  was  at  home  as  he 
opened  the  gate  and  went  up  the  path. 

It  was  a  beautiful,  sunny  afternoon, 
and  Mrs.  Gray  was  sitting  outside  the 
door,  making,  plain  as  she  was,  a  pretty 
picture  with  the  shadows  of  the  young 
vine  leaves  over  the  door  dappling  her 
print  gown  and  apron  and  the  baby's 


70  Zoe. 

little  dark  head  and  pink  pinafore — a 
garment  that  had  once  been  Bill's,  who 
had  been  of  a  more  robust  build  than 
this  baby,  and  moreover  had  worn  the 
pinafore  at  a  more  advanced  age,  so  that 
the  fit  left  a  good  deal  to  be  desired,  and 
the  color  had  suffered  in  constant  visits 
to  the  wash-tub,  and  was  not  so  bright 
as  it  had  been  originally. 

But  altogether  the  faded  pinafore  and 
the  vine-leaf  shadows,  and  the  love  in 
the  woman's  face  made  a  harmonious 
whole,  and  the  song  she  was  singing, 
without  a  note  of  sweetness  or  tune  in 
it,  did  not  jar  on  the  organist's  ear,  as 
you  might  have  supposed,  knowing  his 
critical  and  refined  taste. 

"Good  afternoon,  Mrs.  Gray,"  he 
said ;  "I  came  for  the  book  I  lent  your 
son  the  other  day.  Why,  is  this  your 
baby?"  he  added,  with  unnecessarily 


Zoe.  71 

elaborate  dissimulation.        "I  did  not 
know  you  had  any  so  young." 

"Mine?  Lor'  bless  you,  no.  Ain't 
you  heard  ?  Why,  I  thought  it  was  all 
over  the  place.  Gray  found  it  in  the 
garden  just  there  where  you  be  standing, 
a  week  ago  come  to-morrow.  Ain't  she 
a  pretty  dear,  bless  her !  and  takes  such 
notice,  too,  as  is  wonderful.  Why,  she's 
looking  at  you  now  as  if  she'd  a-known 
you  all  her  life.  Just  look  at  her !  if 
she  ain't  smiling  at  you,  a  little  puss !" 
"Where  did  she  come  from  ?" 
"Well,  sure,  who's  to  know?  There 
was  some  gypsy  folks  through  the  place, 
and  there've  been  a  lot  of  tramps  about 
along  of  Milton  Fair,  and  there  was  one 
of  'em,  they  say,  a  week  or  two  ago  with 
just  such  a  baby  as  this  'un.  My  mas- 
ter he've  made  a  few  inquirements ;  but 
there!  for  my  part  I  don't  care  if  we 


Ti}  Zoe. 

don't  hear  no  more  of  her  folks,  and 
Gray's  much  of  the  same  mind,  having 
took  a  terrible  fancy  to  the  child.  And 
it's  plain  as  she  ain't  got  no  mother 
worth  the  name,  as  would  leave  her  like 
that,  and  neglected,  too,  shameful.  As 
there  ain't  no  excuse,  to  my  way  of 
thinking,  for  a  baby  being  dirty,  let 
folks  be  as  poor  as  they  may." 

Somewhere  deep  down  in  Mr.  Robins' 
mind,  unacknowledged  to  himself,  there 
was  a  tinge  of  resentment  at  this  reflec- 
tion on  the  mother's  treatment  of  the 
baby. 

"She's  as  sweet  as  a  blossom  now," 
went  on  Mrs.  Gray,  tossing  the  baby  up, 
who  laughed  and  crowed  and  stretched 
its  arms.  Yes,  he  could  see  the  like- 
ness, he  was  sure  of  it ;  and  it  brought 
back  to  his  mind  with  sudden  vividness 
a  young  mother's  look  of  pride  and  love 


Zoe.  73- 

as  she  held  up  her  little  girl  for  the  fath- 
er's admiration.  Mother  and  child 
had  then  been  wonderfully  alike,  and  in 
this  baby  he  could  trace  a  likeness  to 
both. 

Mrs.  Gray  went  maundering  on,  as 
her  manner  was,  interspersing  her  nar- 
rative with  baby  nonsense  and  endear- 
ments, and  Mr.  Robins  forgot  his  er- 
rand, which  was,  after  all,  only  a  pre- 
text, and  stood  half-listening  and  more 
than  half  back  in  the  old  days  of  mem- 
ory; and  once  he  so  far  forgot  himself 
as  to  snap  his  fingers  at  the  child,  and 
touch  one  of  its  warm  little  hands, 
which  immediately  closed  round  his  fin- 
ger with  a  baby's  soft,  tenacious  grasp, 
from  which  it  required  a  certain  gentle 
effort  to  escape. 

"A  pleasant,  chatty  sort  of  man  the 
organist,"  Mrs.  Gray  said,  having  talked 


74  Zoe. 

nearly  all  the  time  herself,  with  only  a 
word  or  two  from  him  now  and  then 
as  reply;  uand  not  a*bit  of  pride  about 
him,  let  folks  say  what  they  like.  Why, 
he  stopped  ever  so  long  and  had  a  deal 
to  say;  and  there,  Bill,  you  just  run 
down  with  the  book,  as  he  went  off  after 
all  without  it." 

Mr.  Robins  went  home  slowly  across 
the  fields  in  a  curiously  softened  frame 
of  mind.  Perhaps  it  was  the  soft  west 
wind,  fragrant  with  sweet  spring  scents 
of  cowslips  and  cherry  blossom,  or  the 
full  glad  sunshine  on  all  the  varied  green 
of  tree  and  hedge,  a  thousand  tints  of 
that  "shower  of  greennesses"  poured 
down  so  lavishly  by  the  Giver  of  all  good 
things ;  perhaps  it  was  the  larks  spring- 
ing up  from  the  clover  in  such  an  ecstasy 
of  song ;  or  perhaps  it  was  the  clasp  of  a 
baby's  hand  on  his  finger.  He  noticed 


Zoe.  75 

the  spring  beauty  round  him  as  he  had 
not  noticed  such  things  for  many  a  day, 
stooping  to  pick  a  big,  tasselled,  gold- 
freckled  cowslip,  and  stopping  to  let  a 
newly-fledged,  awkward  young  bird  hop 
clumsily  out  of  the  way,  with  a  sort  of 
tenderness  and  consideration  for  young 
things  unusual  to  him. 

His  mind  was  more  at  rest  than  it  had 
been  for  the  last  three  weeks.  The 
baby's  crowing  laughter  seemed  to  drive 
out  of  his  memory  the  wailing  cry  and 
the  hollow  cough  and  the  sad,  beseech- 
ing voice  saying  "Father,"  and  then  the 
pitiless  beating  rain,  which  had  been 
haunting  him  for  the  last  three  weeks. 
The  sight  of  the  baby,  loved  and  cared 
for,  had  taken  away  a  misgiving,  which 
he  had  hardly  been  conscious  of  himself. 
After  all,  he  had  not  done  badly  by  the 
child.  Mrs.  Gray  was  a  kind,  motherly 


76  Zoe. 

sort  of  body,  and  used  to  babies,  which 
Jane  Sands  was  not,  and  she  would  do 
well  by  the  child,  and  he  himself  could 
see,  without  anyone  being  the  wiser,  that 
the  child  did  not  want  for  anything, 
though  he  would  not  be  held  responsible 
in  any  way  for  it. 


Zoe.  77 


CHAPTER  V. 

There  was  one  thing  that  puzzled  Mr. 
Robins  extremely,  and  this  was  Jane 
Sands'  behavior.  He  was  convinced 
that  she  had  been  a  party  to  the  trick 
that  had  been  played  off  on  him,  and  she 
was  evidently  full  of  some  secret  trouble 
and  anxiety,  for  which  he  could  only  ac- 
count by  attributing  it  to  her  disappoint- 
ment about  the  baby,  and  perhaps  dis- 
trust of  the  care  that  would  be  taken  of 
it  by  others. 

Mr.  Robins  often  discovered  her  in 
tears,  and  she  was  constantly  going  out 
for  hours  at  a  time,  having  always  hith- 
erto been  almost  too  much  of  a  stay-at- 
home.  He  suspected  that  these  length- 
ened absences  meant  visits  to  the  Grays' 


78  Zoe-. 

cottage  and  that  baby-worship  that 
women  find  so  delightful ;  but  he  found 
out  accidentally  that  she  had  never  been 
near  the  cottage  since  the  baby's  arrival, 
and  when  he  made  an  excuse  of  sending 
a  book  by  her  to  Bill  to  get  her  to  go 
there,  she  met  the  boy  at  the  bottom  of 
the  lane  and  did  not  go  on  to  the  cottage. 

As  to  what  he  had  overheard  the  men 
saying  about  the  gypsy  girl,  he  felt  sure 
that  Jane  had  only  said  this  to  put  peo- 
ple on  the  wrong  scent,  though,  certain- 
ly, deception  of  any  sort  was  very  un- 
like her.  Once  he  found  her  sitting  up 
late  at  night  at  work  on  some  small 
frocks  and  pinafores,  and  he  thought 
that  at  last  the  subject  was  coming  to 
the  surface,  and  especially  as  she  col- 
ored up  and  tried  to  hide  the  work  when 
he  came  in. 

"Busy?"  he  said.     "You  seem  very 


Zoe.  79 

hard  at  work.  Who  are  you  working 
for  3" 

"A  baby,"  she  stammered,  "a  baby — 
that  my  sister's  taking  care  of." 

She  was  so  red  and  confused  that  he 
felt  sure  she  was  saying  what  was  not 
true,  but  he  forgave  her  for  the  sake  of 
the  baby  for  whom  he  firmly  believed 
the  work  was  being  done,  and  who,  to  be 
sure,  when  he  saw  it  in  Mrs.  Gray's 
arms,  looked  badly  in  want  of  clothes 
more  fitted  to  its  size  than  Bill's  old  pin- 
afores. 

He  stood  for  a  minute  fingering  the 
pink,  spotted  print  of  infantile  simplici- 
ty of  pattern,  and  listening  to  the  quick 
click,  click,  of  her  needle  as  it  flew  in 
and  out ;  but  it  was  not  till  he  had  turned 
away  and  was  half  out  of  the  kitchen 
that  she  began  a  request  that  had  been  on 
the  tip  of  her  tongue  all  the  time,  but 


80  Zoe. 

which  she  had  not  ventured  to  bring  out 
while  he  stood  at  the  table. 

"I  was  going  to  ask  if  you'd  no  ob- 
jection, seeing  that  they're  no  good  to 
any  one — 

Now  it  was  coming  out,  and  he  turned 
with  an  encouraging  smile. 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"There  are  some  old  baby-clothes  put 
away  in  a  drawer  upstairs.  They're 
rough  dried,  and  I've  kept  an  eye  on 
them,  and  took  them  out  now  and  then 
to  see  as  the  moth  didn't  get  in  them— 

"Yes?" 

"Well,  sir,  this  baby  that  I'm  work- 
ing for  is  terrible  short  of  clothes,  and  I 
thought  I  might  take  a  few  of  them  for 
her—" 

She  did  not  look  at  him  once  as  she 
spoke,  or  she  might  have  been  encour- 
aged by  the  look  on  his  face,  which  soft- 


Zoe.  81 

ened  into  a  very  benignant,  kindly  ex- 
pression. 

"To  be  sure!  to  be  sure!"  he  said. 
"I've  no  objection  to  your  taking  some 
of  them  for  the  baby — at  your  sister's." 
He  spoke  the  last  words  with  some  mean- 
ing, and  she  looked  quickly  up  at  him 
and  dropped  her  work  as  if  tumultuous 
words  were  pressing  to  be  spoken,  but 
stopped  them  with  an  effort  and  went 
on  with  her  work,  only  with  heightened 
color  and  trembling  fingers. 

She  was  not  slow  to  avail  herself  of 
his  permission,  for  that  very  night  be- 
fore she  went  to  bed  he  heard  her  in  the 
next  room  turning  out  the  drawer  where 
the  old  baby-clothes  had  been  stored 
away  ever  since  little  Edith  had  discard- 
ed them  for  clothes  of  a  larger  size. 
And  next  morning  she  was  up  betimes, 
starching  and  ironing  and  goffering 

6 


82  Zoe. 

dainty  little  frills  with  such  a  look  of 
love  and  satisfaction  on  her  face,  that  he 
had  not  the  heart  to  hint  that  she  had 
availed  herself  somewhat  liberally  of  his 
permission,  and  that  less  dainty  care  and 
crispness  might  do  equally  well  for  the 
baby,  bundled  up  in  Mrs.  Gray's  kind 
but  crumpling  arms,  to  take  the  place  of 
Bill's  faded  pinafore. 

That  afternoon  he  purposely  took  his 
way  home  over  the  hillside  and  down  the 
lane  by  the  Grays'  cottage,  with  the  con- 
viction that  he  should  see  the  baby 
tricked  out  in  some  of  those  frilled  and 
tucked  little  garments  over  which  Jane 
Sands  had  lavished  so  much  time  and 
attention  that  morning.  But  to  his  sur- 
prise he  saw  her  in  much  the  same  cos- 
tume as  before,  only  the  pinafore  this 
time  was  washed-out  lavender  instead  of 
pink,  and  as  she  was  in  Bill's  arms,  and 


Zoe.  83 

he,  as  the  youngest  of  the  family,  being 
inexperienced  in  nursing,  a  more 
crumpled  effect  was  produced  than  his 
mother  had  done.  He  could  only  con- 
clude that  Jane  had  not  found  time  yet 
to  take  the  things,  or  that  Mrs.  Gray  was 
reserving  them  for  a  more  showy  occa- 
sion. 

But  he  found  Jane  just  returning  as 
he  came  up  to  his  house,  and  she  looked 
far  more  hot  and  dusty  than  the  short 
walk  up  the  lane  to  the  Grays  accounted 
for,  but  with  a  beaming  look  on  her  kind 
face  that  had  not  been  there  for  many  a 
day. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "Jane,  have  you  been 
toStokeley?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "and  I  took  the 
things  you  were  good  enough  to  say  the 
baby  might  have.  They  were  pleased." 

She,  too,  spoke  with  a  curious  mean- 


84  Zoe. 

ing  in  her  voice  and  manner  which  some- 
how faded  when  she  saw  the  want  of  re- 
sponse in  his  face.  Indeed  there  was  a 
very  distinct  feeling  of  disappointment 
and  irritation  in  his  feelings.  For  after 
all  those  clothes  had  actually  gone  to 
some  other  baby.  Well,  well!  it  is  a 
selfish  world  after  all,  and  each  of  us  has 
his  own  interests  which  take  him  up  and 
engross  him.  No  doubt  this  little  com- 
mon child  at  Stokeley  was  all  in  all  to 
Jane  Sands,  and  she  was  glad  enough  of 
a  chance  to  pick  all  the  best  out  of  those 
baby-clothes  upstairs  that  he  remem- 
bered his  young  wife  preparing  so  lov- 
ingly for  her  baby  and  his.  It  gave 
him  quite  a  pang  to  think  of  some  little 
Sands  or  Jenkins  adorned  with  these 
tucks  he  had  seen  run  so  carefully  and 
frills  sewn  so  daintily.  He  had  evi- 
dently given  Jane  credit  for  a  great  deal 


Zoe.  85 

more  unselfishness  and  devotion  to  him 
and  his  than  she  really  felt,  for*  she  had 
all  the  time  been  busy  working  and  pro- 
viding for  her  own  people  when  he  had 
thought  she  was  full  of  consideration  for 
Edith's  child.  Pshaw!  he  had  to  pull 
himself  together  and  take  himself  to 
task ;  for  even  in  these  few  days  he  had 
grown  to  think  of  that  little  brown-faced, 
dark-eyed  baby  as  his  grandchild,  in- 
stead of  Martin  Blake's  brat.  Insensi- 
bly, and  naturally,  too,  the  child  had 
brought  back  the  memory  of  its  mother, 
first  as  baby,  then  as  sweet  and  winsome 
little  child ;  then  as  bright,  wilful,  coax- 
ing girl,  and,  lastly,  unless  he  kept  his 
thoughts  well  in  check,  there  followed  on 
these  brighter  memories  the  shadow  of 
a  white,  worn  woman  under  the  yew- 
tree  in  the  churchyard,  and  of  a  voice 
that  said  "Father." 


86  Zoe. 

That  uninteresting  child  at  Stokeley 
apparently  required  a  great  supply  of 
clothes,  for  Jane  Sands  was  hard  at 
work  again  that  evening,  and  when  he 
came  in  from  the  choir  practice  he 
heard  her  singing  over  her  work  as  she 
used  to  do  in  old  days,  and  when  he  went 
in  for  his  pipe  she  looked  up  with  a 
smile  that  seemed  to  expect  a  sympathet- 
ic response,  and  made  no  effort  to  con- 
ceal the  work  as  she  had  done  the  day 
before. 

He  stood  morosely  by  the  fireplace  for 
a  minute,  shaking  the  ashes  out  of  his 
pipe. 

"You're  very  much  taken  up  with 
that  baby,"  he  said  crossly;  and  she 
looked  up  quickly,  thinking  that  perhaps 
he  had  a  hole  in  his  stocking  or  a  button 
off  his  shirt  to  complain  of,  as  a  conse- 
quence of  her  being  engrossed  in  other 


Zoe.  87 

work.  But  he  went  on  without  looking 
at  her,  and  apparently  deeply  absorbed 
in  getting  an  obstinate  bit  of  ash  out  of 
the  pipe  bowl. 

"There's  a  child  at  Mrs.  Gray's  they 
say  is  very  short  of  clothes.  That  baby, 
you  know — 

"That  baby  that  was  found  in  the  gar- 
den," Jane  said,  in  such  a  curiously  un- 
interested tone  of  voice  that  he  could  not 
resist  glancing  round  at  her ;  but  she  was 
just  then  engaged  in  that  mysterious 
process  of  "stroking  the  gathers,"  which 
the  intelligent  feminine  reader  will  un- 
derstand requires  a  certain  attention. 
If  this  indifference  were  assumed,  Jane 
Sands  was  a  much  better  actor  and  a 
more  deceptive  character  than  he  had 
believed  possible ;  if  she  were  too  entire- 
ly absorbed  in  her  own  people  to  give 
even  a  thought  to  her  young  mistress' 


88  Zoe. 

baby,  she  was  not  the  Jane  Sands  he 
thought  he  had  known  for  the  last  twen- 
ty years.  The  only  alternative  was  that 
she  knew  nothing  about  the  baby  having 
been  left  on  his  door-step,  nor  of  the 
meeting  with  his  daughter  in  the  church- 
yard which  had  preceded  it. 

What  followed  convinced  him  that 
this  was  the  case,  though  it  also  a  little 
favored  the  other  hypnotists  of  her  self- 
ish absorption  in  her  own  people. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  "you  could  look 
out  some  of  those  baby  things  upstairs 
if  there  are  any  left." 

"What?  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir. 
What  did  you  say  ?" 

"Those  baby-clothes  upstairs  that  you 
gave  to  your  sister's  baby." 

"Those!"  she  said,  with  a  strange 
light  of  indignation  in  her  eyes,  more 
even  than  you  would  have  expected  in 


Zoe.  89 

the  most  grasping  and  greedy  person  on 
a  proposal  that  something  should  be 
snatched  from  her  hungry  maw  and 
given  to  another.  "  Those !  Little  Miss 
Edith's  things,  that  her  own  mother 
made  and  that  I've  kept  so  careful  all 
these  years  in  case  Miss  Edith's  own 
should  need  them !" 

You  see,  she  forgot  in  the  excitement 
of  the  moment  that  these  were  the  very 
things  she  had  been  giving  away  so 
freely  to  that  common  little  child  at 
Stokeley ;  but  women  are  so  inconsistent. 

"Well,"  he  said,  as  her  breath  failed 
her  in  this  unusual  torrent  of  remon- 
strance, "why  not  ?" 

"For  a  little  gypsy  child !  a  foundling 
that  nobody  knows  anything  about! 
Don't  do  it,  master,  don't !  I  couldn't 
abear  to  see  it.  Here,  let  me  get  a  bit 
of  print  and  flannel  and  run  together  a 


90  Zoe. 

few  things  for  the  child.  I'd  rather  do 
it  a  hundred  times  than  that  those  things 
should  be  given  away — and  just  now, 
too!" 

It  was  very  plain  to  Mr.  Robins  that 
she  did  not  know;  but  all  the  same  he 
was  half  inclined  to  point  out  that  it 
was  not  a  much  more  outrageous  thing 
to  bestow  these  cherished  garments  on 
a  foundling  than  on  her  sister's  baby; 
but  she  was  evidently  so  unconscious  of 
her  inconsistency  in  the  matter  that  he 
did  not  know  how  to  suggest  it  to  her. 

"I'm  going  into  Stokeley  to-morrow," 
she  went  on,  "and  if  you  liked  I  could 
get  some  print  and  make  it  a  few  frocks. 
I  saw  some  very  neat  at  f  ourpence  three 
farthings  that  would  wash  beautiful,  and 
a  good  stout  flannel  at  elevenpence. 
Oh !  not  like  that/'  she  said,  as  he  laid 
a  finger  on  some  soft  Saxony  flannel 


Zoe.  91 

with  a  pink  edge  which  lay  on  the  table ; 
"something-  more  serviceable  for  a  poor 
person's  child." 

Well,  perhaps  it  was  better  that  Jane 
should  not  know  who  the  baby  was  of 
whom  she  spoke  so  contemptuously.  A 
baby  was  none  the  better  or  healthier 
for  being  dressed  up  in  frills  and  lace; 
and  Mrs.  Gray  was  a  thoroughly  clean, 
motherly  woman,  and  would  do  well  by 
the  child. 

All  the  same,  when  Jane  came  back 
from  Stokeley  next  day  and  unfolded 
the  parcel  she  had  brought  from  the 
draper's  there,  he  could  not  help  feeling 
that  that  somewhat  dingy  lavender, 
though  it  might  wash  like  a  rag,  was,  to 
say  the  least,  uninteresting,  and  the  tex- 
ture of  the  flannel,  even  to  his  undis- 
criminating  eye,  was  a  trifle  rough  and 
coarse  for  baby  limbs. 


92  Zoe. 

He  knew  nothing  (how  should  he?) 
of  the  cut  and  make  of  baby-clothes,  but 
somehow  these,  under  Jane's  scissors 
and  needle,  did  not  take  such  attractive 
proportions  as  those  she  had  prepared 
for  the  other  baby ;  nor  did  the  stitches 
appear  so  careful  and  minute,  though 
Jane's  worst  enemy,  if  she  had  any, 
could  not  have  accused  her  of  putting 
bad  work  even  into  the  hem  of  a  duster, 
let  alone  a  baby's  frock.  He  also  noticed 
that,  industriously  as  she  worked  at  the 
lavender  print,  her  ardor  was  not  suffi- 
cient to  last  beyond  bedtime,  and  that 
when  the  clock  struck  ten,  her  work  was 
put  away  without  any  apparent  reluc- 
tance, even  when,  to  all  appearances,  it 
was  so  near  completion  that  any  one 
would  have  given  the  requisite  ten  min- 
utes just  from  the  mere  lust  of  finish- 
ing. 


Zoe.  93 

That  Sunday  afternoon  when  the  cu- 
rious name  Zoe,  sounding  across  the 
church  in  the  strange  clergyman's  voice, 
startled  the  organist,  who  had  not  ex- 
pected the  christening  to  take  place  that 
day,  one  of  the  distracting  thoughts 
\vhich  made  him  make  so  many  mistakes 
in  the  music  was  wondering  what  Jane 
Sands  would  think  of  the  name,  and 
whether  it  would  rouse  any  suspicion  in 
her  mind  and  enlighten  her  a  little  as  to 
who  the  baby  at  Mrs.  Gray's  really  was. 
The  name  was  full  of  memories  and  as- 
sociations to  him ;  surely  it  must  be  also 
a  little  to  Jane  Sands. 

But  of  all  Sunday  afternoons  in  the 
year,  she  had  chosen  this  to  go  over  to 
Stokeley  church.  Why,  parson  and 
clerk  were  hardly  more  regular  in  their 
attendance  than  Jane  Sands  as  a  rule ; 
it  was  almost  an  unheard-of  thing  for 


94  Zoe. 

her  seat  to  be  empty.  But  to-day  it  was 
so,  and  the  row  of  little  boys  whom  her 
gentle  presence  generally  awed  into 
tolerable  behavior  indulged  unchecked 
in  all  the  ingenious  naughtiness  that 
infant  mind  and  body  are  capable  of  in 
church. 

She  came  in  rather  late  with  his  tea, 
apologizing  for  having  kept  him  wait- 
ing. 

"It  was  christening  Sunday/'  she 
said,  and  then  she  looked  at  him  rather 
wistfully. 

Perhaps  she  has  heard,  he  thought; 
perhaps  the  neighbors  have  told  her  the 
name,  and  she  is  beginning  to  guess. 

"And  the  baby  has  been  called — " 
She  hesitated  and  glanced  timidly  at 
him. 

"Well,"  he  said  encouragingly,  "what 
is  the  name  V9 


Zoe.  95 


"Edith,"    she    answered, 


name." 


Pshaw !  it  was  the  baby  at  her  sister's 
she  was  talking  of  all  the  time!  He 
turned  irritably  away. 

"He  can't  bear  to  hear  the  name,  even 
now;  or,  perhaps,  he's  cross  at  being 
kept  waiting  for  tea,"  thought  Jane 
Sands. 


96  Zoe. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

As  spring  glided  into  summer,  and 
June's  long,  bright,  hay-scented  days 
passed  by,  followed  by  July,  with  its  hot 
sun  pouring  down  on  the  ripening  wheat 
and  shaven  hayfields,  and  on  the  trees, 
which  had  settled  down  into  the  monoto- 
nous green  of  summer,  the  little  brown- 
faced  baby  at  the  Grays'  throve  and 
flourished,  and  entwined  itself  round 
the  hearts  of  the  kindly  people  in  whose 
care  Providence,  by  the  hands  of  the 
organist,  had  placed  it.  It  grew  close 
to  them  like  the  branches  of  the  Virginia 
creeper  against  a  battered,  ugly  old  wall, 
putting  out  those  dainty  little  hands  and 
fingers  that  cling  so  close  not  even  the 
roughest  wind  or  driving  rain  can  tear 
them  apart.  Gray,  coming  in  dirty  and 
tired  in  the  evening,  after  a  long  day's 


Zoe.  97 

work  in  the  hayfield  or  carting  manure, 
was  never  too  tired,  nor  for  the  matter  of 
that  too  dirty,  to  take  the  baby  and  let 
it  dab  its  fat  hands  on  his  face,  or  claw 
at  his  grizzled  whiskers,  or  slobber  open- 
mouthed  kisses  on  his  cheeks. 

Tom,  who  had  bought  a  blue  tie  and 
begun  taking  Mary  Jane,  dairymaid  at 
the  farm,  out  walking  on  a  Sunday  even- 
ing, for  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  and  on 
three-and-sixpence  a  week,  it  is  natural 
and  usual  to  think  of  matrimony — Tom, 
I  say,  let  Zoe  keep  him  from  his  siren 
and  scrabble  at  that  vivid  necktie,  and 
pull  the  bit  of  southernwood  out  of  his 
buttonhole  and  rumple  his  well-oiled 
locks  out  of  all  symmetry ;  while  Bill  ex- 
pended boundless  ingenuity  and  time  in 
cutting  whistles  and  fashioning  whirli- 
gigs, which  were  summarily  disposed  of 
directly  they  got  into  the  baby's  Hands. 


98  Zoe. 

As  for  Mrs.  Gray,  it  is  unnecessary 
to  say  that  she  was  the  most  complete 
slave  of  all  Zoe's  abject  subjects,  and 
the  neighbors  all  agreed  that  she  was 
downright  silly  like  over  that  little 
brown-faced  brat  as  was  no  better — no, 
nor  nothing  to  hold  a  candle  to  my  John- 
nie, or  Dolly,  or  Bobby,  as  the  case  might 
be. 

An  unprejudiced  observer  might  have 
thought  that  Mrs.  Gray  had  some  reason 
for  her  high  opinion  of  Zoe,  for  she  was 
certainly  a  very  much  prettier  baby  than 
the  majority  in  Downside,  who  were  gen- 
erally of  the  dumpling  type,  with  two 
currants  for  eyes.  And  she  was  also  a 
very  good  baby.  "And  easy  enough,  too, 
for  any  one  to  be  good !"  would  be  the 
comment  of  any  listening  Downside 
mother,  "when  they  always  gets  their 
own  way ;"  which,  however,  is  not  so  ob- 


Zoe.  99 

vious  a  truth  as  regards  babies  under 
a  year  as  it  is  of  older  people.  Cer- 
tainly to  be  put  to  bed  awake  arid 
smiling  at  seven  o'olock,  and  there- 
upon to  go  to  sleep  and  sleep  soundly 
till  seven  o'clock  next  morning,  shows 
an  amount  of  virtue  in  a  baby  which  is 
unhappily  rare,  though  captious  read- 
ers may  attribute  it  rather  to  good  health 
and  digestion, — which  may  also  be  cred- 
ited, perhaps,  with  much  virtue  in  older 
people. 

"And  I  do  say,"  Mrs.  Gray  was  never 
tired  of  repeating  to  any  one  who  had 
patience  to  listen,  "as  nothing  wouldn't 
upset  that  blessed  little  angel,  as  it 
makes  me  quite  uneasy  thinking  as  how 
she's  too  good  to  live,  as  is  only  natural 
to  mortal  babies  to  have  the  tantrums 
now  and  then,  if  it's  only  from  stomach- 
ache." 


100  Zoe. 

The  only  person  who  seemed  to  sym- 
pathize in  the  Grays'  admiration  for  the 
baby  was  the  organist.  It  was  really 
wonderful,  Mrs.  Gray  said,  the  fancy 
he  had  taken  to  the  child.  "Ay,  and 
the  child  to  him,  too,  perking  up  and 
looking  quite  peart  like,  as  soon  as  ever 
his  step  come  along  the  path."  The 
wonder  was  mostly  in  the  baby  taking 
to  him,  in  Mrs.  Gray's  opinion,  as  there 
was  nothing  to  be  surprised  at  in  any  one 
taking  to  the  baby;  but  "he,  with  no 
chick  nor  child  of  his  own,  and  with  that 
quiet  kind  of  way  with  him  as  ain't  gen- 
eral what  children  like, — though  don't 
never  go  for  to  tell  me  as  Mr.  Eobins  is 
proud  and  stuck  up,  as  I  knows  better." 

There  was  a  sort  of  fascination  about 
the  child  to  the  organist,  and  when  he 
found  that  no  one  seemed  to  have  the 
slightest  suspicion  as  to  who  the  baby 


Zoe.  101 

really  was,  or  why  he  should  be  inter- 
ested in  it,  he  gave  way  more  and  more 
to  the  inclination  to  go  to  the  Grays' 
cottage  and  watch  the  little  thing  and 
trace  the  likeness  that  seemed  every  day 
to  grow  more  and  more  strong  to  his 
dead  wife  and  to  her  baby  girl. 

Perhaps  anyone  sharper  and  less  sim- 
ple than  Mrs.  Gray  might  have  grown 
suspicious  of  some  other  reason  than 
pure,  disinterested  admiration  for  little 
Zoe  as  the  cause  which  brought  the  or- 
ganist so  often  to  her  house ;  and  per- 
haps if  the  cottage  had  stood  in  the  vil- 
lage street  it  might  have  occasioned  re- 
marks among  the  neighbors ;  but  he  had 
always,  of  late  years,  been  so  reserved 
and  solitary  a  man  that  no  notice  was 
taken  of  his  comings  and  goings,  and  if 
his  way  took  him  frequently  over  the 
hillside  and  down  the  lane — whv !  it  was 


102  Zoe. 

a  very  nice  walk,  and  there  was  nothing 
to  be  surprised  at. 

The  only  person  who  might  have  no- 
ticed where  he  went,  and  how  long  he 
sometimes  lingered,  was  Jane  Sands, 
and  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  in  old 
days  she  would  have  done  so ;  but  then, 
as  we  have  seen,  she  was  not  quite  the 
same  Jane  Sands  she  used  to  be,  or  at 
any  rate  not  quite  what  we  used  to  fancy 
her,  devoted  above  all  things  to  her  mas- 
ter and  his  interests,  but  much  absorbed 
in  her  own  matters  and  in  those  Stokeley 
friends  of  hers.  She  had  asked  for  a 
rise  in  her  wages,  too,  which  Mr.  Robins 
assented  to,  but  without  that  cordiality 
he  might  have  done  a  few  months  be- 
fore; and  he  strongly  suspected  that 
when  quarter-day  came  the  wages  went 
the  same  way  as  those  baby-clothes,  for 
there  was  certainly  no  outlay  on  her  own 


Zoe.  103 

attire,  which,  though  always  scrupulous- 
ly neat,  seemed  to  him  more  plain  and 
a  shade  more  shabby  than  it  used  to  be. 

As  the  summer  waxed  and  waned,  the 
love  for  little  Zoe  grew  and  strengthened 
in  the  organist's  heart.  It  seemed  a 
kind  of  possession,  as  if  a  spell  had 
been  cast  on  him ;  in  old  times  it  might 
have  been  set  down  to  witchcraft;  and, 
indeed,  it  seemed  something  of  the  sort 
to  himself,  as  if  a  power  he  could  not  re- 
sist compelled  him  to  seek  out  the  child, 
to  think  of  it,  to  dream  of  it,  to  have  it  so 
constantly  in  his  mind  and  thoughts  that 
from  there  it  found  its  way  into  his 
heart.  To  us  who  know  his  secret  it 
may  be  explained  as  the  tie  of  blood,  the 
drawing  of  a  man,  in  spite  of  himself, 
towards  his  own  kith  and  kin.  Blood 
is  thicker  than  water,  and  the  organist 
could  not  reject  this  baby  grandchild 


104  Zoe. 

from  his  natural  feelings,  though  he 
might  from  his  house.  And  beyond 
and  above  this  explanation,  we  may  ac- 
count for  it,  as  we  may  for  most  other- 
wise unaccountable  things,  as  being  the 
leading  of  a  wise  Providence  working 
out  a  divine  purpose. 

Perhaps  the  punishment  that  was  to 
come  to  the  organist  by  the  hands  of  lit- 
tle Zoe — those  fat,  dimpled,  brown  hands 
that  flourished  about  in  the  air  so  joy- 
ously when  he  whistled  a  tune  to  her — 
began  from  the  very  first,  for  it  was  im- 
possible to  think  of  the  child  without 
thinking  of  the  mother,  for  to  look  at 
Zoe  without  seeing  the  likeness  that  his 
fond  fancy  made  far  plainer  than  it 
really  was ;  and  to  think  of  the  mother 
and  to  see  her  likeness  was  to  remember 
that  meeting  in  the  churchyard  and  the 
sad,  pleading  voice  and  hollow  cough, 


Zoe.  105 

and  the  cold  denial  he  had  given,  and  the 
beating  rain  and  howling  wind  of  that 
dreary  night.  He  grew  by  degrees  to 
excuse  himself  to  himself  and  to  plead 
that  he  was  taken  unawares,  and  that,  if 
she  had  not  taken  his  answer  as  final,  but 
had  followed  him  to  the  house,  he  should 
certainly  have  relented. 

And  then  he  went  a  step  further.  I 
think  it  was  one  July  day,  when  the  baby 
had  been  more  than  usually  gracious  to 
him,  and  he  had  ventured,  in  Mrs. 
Gray's  absence,  to  lift  her  out  of  the 
cradle  and  carry  her  down  the  garden 
path,  finding  her  a  heavier  weight  than 
when  he  had  first  taken  her  to  the  Grays' 
cottage.  She  had  clapped  her  hands  at  a 
great,  velvet-bodied  bumble-bee,  she  had 
nestled  her  curly  head  into  his  neck, 
and  with  the  feeling  of  her  soft  breath 
on  his  cheek  he  had  said  to  himself :  "If 


106  Zoe. 

Edith  were  to  come  back  now  I  would 
forgive  her  for  the  baby's  sake,  for  Zoe's 
sake."  He  forgot  that  he  had  need  to  be 
forgiven,  too.  "She  will  come  back," 
he  told  himself ;  "she  will  come  back  to 
see  the  child.  She  could  not  be  content 
to  hear  nothing  more  of  her  baby  and 
never  to  see  her,  in  spite  of  what  she 
said.  And  when  she  comes  it  shall  be 
different,  for  Zoe's  sake." 

He  wondered  if  Jane  Sands  knew 
where  Edith  was,  or  ever  heard  from 
her.  He  sometimes  fancied  that  she 
did,  and  yet,  if  she  knew  nothing  of  the 
baby,  it  was  hardly  likely  that  she  had 
any  correspondence  with  the  mother. 
He  was  puzzled,  and  more  than  once 
he  felt  inclined  to  let  her  into  the  secret, 
or  at  least  drop  some  hint  that  might 
lead  to  its  discovery. 

It  pleased  him  to  imagine  her  delight 


Zoe.  107 

over  Edith's  child,  her  pride  in  and  de- 
votion to  it ;  she  would  never  rest  till  she 
had  it  under  her  care,  and  ousted  Mrs. 
Gray  from  all  share  in  little  Zoe.  And 
yet,  whenever  he  had  got  so  far  in  his 
inclination  to  tell  Jane,  some  proof  of 
her  absorption  in  that  baby  at  Stokeley, 
for  whom  he  had  a  sort  of  jealous  dis- 
like, threw  him  back  upon  himself  and 
made  him  doubt  her  aifection  for  her 
young  mistress  and  resolve  to  keep  the 
secret  to  himself,  at  any  rate  for  the 
present. 

He  came  the  nearest  telling  her  one 
day  in  August,  when,  as  he  was  watering 
his  flowers  in  the  evening,  Mrs.  Gray 
passed  the  gate  with  that  very  little  Zoe, 
who  was  so  constantly  in  his  thoughts. 

She  had  a  little  white  sunbonnet  on, 
which  Jane  Sands  had  actually  bestowed 
upon  her, — rather  grudgingly,  it  is  true, 


108  Zoe. 

and  only  because  there  was  some  defect 
about  it  which  made  it  unworthy  of  the 
pampered  child  at  Stokeley.  Zoe  saw 
the  organist,  or  at  least  Mrs.  Gray  im- 
agined that  she  did,  for  the  cry  she 
gave  might  equally  well  have  been  in- 
tended as  a  geeting  to  a  pig  down  in 
the  ditch. 

"Well,  a-never,  who'd  V  thought! 
she  see  you  ever  so  far  off,  bless  her! 
and  give  such  a  jump  as  pretty  near  took 
her  out  of  my  arms.  Why,  there !  Mr. 
Robins  don't  want  you,  Miss  Saucy,  no 
one  don't  want  such  rubbidge ;  a 
naughty,  tiresome  gal!  as  won't  go  to 
sleep,  but  keeps  jumping  and  kicking 
and  looking  about  till  my  arm's  fit  to 
drop  with  aching." 

Jane  Sands  was  sitting  at  work  just 
outside  the  kitchen  door  at  the  side  of 
the  house.  He  had  seen  her  there  a 


Zoe.  109 

minute  ago  when  he  filled  the  watering- 
can  at  the  pump,  and  a  sudden  impulse 
came  into  his  mind  to  show  her  the 
child. 

He  did  not  quite  decide  what  he  should 
say,  or  what  he  should  do,  when  the 
recognition,  which  he  felt  sure  was  un- 
avoidable, followed  the  sight  of  the 
child ;  but  he  just  yielded  to  the  impulse 
and  took  the  child  from  Mrs.  Gray's 
arms  and  carried  her  round  to  the  back 
door.  The  recognition  was  even  more 
instantaneous  than  he  had  expected. 
As  he  came  round  the  corner  of  the  house 
with  the  little  white-bonneted  girl  in 
his  arms,  Jane  sprang  up  with  a  cry  of 
glad  surprise  and  delight,  such  as  swept 
away  in  a  moment  all  his  doubt  of  her 
loyalty  to  him  and  his,  and  all  his  re- 
membrance of  her  absorption  in  that  lit- 
tle common  child  at  Stokeley.  She 


110  Zoe. 

made  a  step  forward  and  then  stood  per- 
fectly still,  and  the  light  and  gladness 
faded  out  of  her  face,  and  her  hands, 
that  had  been  stretched  out  in  delighted 
greeting,  fell  lifeless  to  her  sides. 

He  said  nothing,  but  held  the  child  to- 
wards her ;  it  was  only  natural  that  she 
should  doubt,  being  so  unprepared,  but 
a  second  glance  would  convince  hej*. 

"I  thought,"  she  said,  looking  the 
baby  over,  with  what  in  a  less  kind,  gen- 
tle face  might  have  been  quite  a  hard, 
critical  manner,  "I  thought  for  a  min- 
ute—" 

"Well?" 

"I  was  mistaken,"  she  said ;  "of  course 
I  was  mistaken."  And  then  she  added 
to  herself  more  than  to  him,  "It  is  not 
a  bit  like — " 

"Look  again,"  he  said,  "look  again; 
don't  you  see  a  likeness  ?" 


Zoe.  Ill 

"Likeness?  Oh,  I  suppose  it's  the 
gypsy  child  up  at  Mrs.  Gray's,  and  you 
mean  the  likeness  to  the  woman  who 
came  here  that  day  she  was  left;  but  I 
don't  remember  enough  of  her  to  say. 
It's  plain  the  child's  a  gypsy.  What  a 
swarthy  skin,  to  be  sure !" 

Why,  where  were  her  eyes  ?  To  Mr. 
Robins  it  was  little  Edith  over  again. 
He  wondered  that  all  the  village  did  not 
see  it  and  cry  out  on  him. 

But  it  was  not  likely  that  after  this 
his  confidence  should  go  further,  and 
just  then  the  child  began  a  little  grum- 
ble, and  he  took  her  back  hastily  to  Mrs. 
Gray  with  a  disappointed,  crestfallen 
feeling. 

Jane  Sands  was  conscious  that  her 
reception  of  the  baby  had  not  been  sat- 
isfactory, and  she  tried  to  make  amends 
by  little  complimentary  remarks,  which 


112  Zoe. 

annoyed  him  more  than  her  indiffer- 
ence. 

"A  fine,  strong  child,  and  does  Mrs. 
Gray  great  credit." 

"It's  a  nice,  bright  little  thing,  and  I 
dare  say  will  improve  as  it  grows  older." 

She  could  not  imagine  why  the  or- 
ganist grunted  in  such  a  surly  way  in 
reply  to  these  remarks,  for  what  on  earth 
could  it  matter  to  him  what  any  one 
thought  of  a  foundling  gypsy  child  ? 


Zoe.  113 

CHAPTER   VII. 

It  was  near  the  end  of  September  that 
John  Gray  broke  his  leg.  They  were 
thrashing  out  a  wheat-rick  at  Farmer 
Benson's,  and  somehow  he  tumbled  from 
the  top  of  the  rick  and  fell  with  his  leg 
bent  under  him,  and  found  that  he  could 
not  stand  when  he  tried  to  struggle  up 
to  his  feet. 

They  ran  to  tell  "his  missus,"  who 
came  straight  off  from  the  washtub  with 
the  soapsuds  still  about  her  skinny,  red 
elbows,  catching  up  Zoe  from  the  cradle 
as  she  passed,  at  sight  of  whom  Gray, 
in  spite  of  the  pain  and  the  deadly  faint- 
ness  that  was  dimming  his  eyes  and 
clutching  his  breath,  made  an  effort  to 
chirrup  and  snap  his  fingers  at  the  little 
one. 

"It's  his  innerds  as  is  hurted,"  ex- 

8 


114  Zoe. 

plained  one  of  the  bystanders,  with  that 
wonderful  openness  and  way  of  making 
the  worst  of  everything  that  is  found  in 
that  class. 

"The  spine  of  his  back  most  like," 
said  another,  "like  poor  Johnson  over  to 
Stokeley,  as  never  walked  another  step 
arter  his  fall." 

"Ay,  he  do  look  mortal  bad!  'Tis 
a  terrible  bad  job!" 

"Cut  off  like  a  flower !"  sighed  one  of 
the  women.  "There,  bear  up,  my  dear," 
to  Mrs.  Gray,  with  whom  she  had  not 
been  on  speaking  terms  for  some  weeks, 
owing  to  a  few  words  about  her  cat's 
thieving  propensities.  "Don't  'ee  take 
on!  I  knows  well  enough  what  you 
feels,  as  is  only  three  weeks  since  father 
was  took  with  his  fit." 

"Don't  be  skeered,  old  gal,"  sounded 
Gray's  voice,  odd  and  unnatural  to  the 


Zoe.  11& 

ears  of  the  hearers,  and  far  away  and 
independent  to  himself,  "I  ain't  so  bad 
as  that  comes  to — 

And  then  mercifully  he  became  un- 
conscious, for  to  go  six  miles  with  a 
broken  leg  in  a  cart  without  springs  on 
the  way  to  the  hospital  is  not  a  joke,  and 
the  neighbors'  kindly  attempts  to  bring 
him  round  were  happily  unsuccessful. 
The  worst  part  of  that  drive  fell  to  the 
share  of  his  wife,  who  sat  holding  his 
head  on  her  lap  as  they  jolted  along, 
trying  to  keep  the  jars  and  bumps  from 
jerking  his  leg,  though  all  the  time  she 
firmly  believed  he  was  dead,  and  was 
already  in  her  dulled  mind  making  piti- 
ful little  arrangements  about  mourning 
and  the  funeral,  and  contemplating, 
with  dreary  equanimity,  a  widowed  ex- 
istence writh  three-and-sixpence  a  week 
for  her  and  Tom  and  Bill  and  Zoe  to 


116  Zoe. 

live  upon.  She  never  left  Zoe  out  of  the 
calculation,  even  when  it  became  most 
difficult  to  adjust  the  number  of  mouths 
to  be  fed  with  the  amount  of  food  to  be 
put  into  them,  and  over  this  dark  fu- 
ture fell  the  darker  shadow  of  the  work- 
house, which  closes  the  vista  of  life  to 
most  of  the  poor.  No  wonder  they  live 
entirely  in  the  present,  and  shut  their 
eyes  persistently  to  the  future ! 

There  was  not  much  going  back  into 
the  past  when  she  was  a  girl  and  the 
"master"  a  lad,  and  they  went  courting 
of  a  Sunday  afternoon  along  the  green 
lanes.  Life  had  been  too  matter-of-fact 
and  full  of  hard  work  to  leave  much 
sentiment  even  in  memory. 

Mr.  Robins  heard  of  the  accident  in 
the  evening,  and  went  up  to  the  cottage, 
where  he  found  Bill  taking  care  of  Zoe, 
who  \vas  having  a  fine  time  of  it,  having 


Zoe.   .  117 

soon  discovered  that  she  had  only  to  cry 
for  anything  that  evening  to  get  it,  and 
that  it  was  an  occasion  for  displaying  a 
will  of  her  own  in  the  matter  of  going  to 
bed  and  being  preter-naturally  wide 
awake  and  inclined  for  a  game,  when 
on  other  nights  she  was  quite  content 
to  be  laid  down  in  the  wooden  cradle, 
which  was  rapidly  becoming  too  small 
for  her  increasing  size. 

Poor  Bill  had  been  at  school  when  the 
accident  happened,  and  of  course  the 
neighbors  had  made  the  very  worst  of 
the  matter,  so  the  poor  boy  hardly  knew 
what  part  of  his  father  had  not  been 
crushed  or  injured,  or  if  he  had  been 
killed  on  the  spot,  or  had  been  taken 
barely  alive  to  the  hospital.  The  baby 
had  been  pushed  into  his  arms,  so  that 
he  could  not  go  up  to  the  farm,  nor  find 
Tom  to  learn  the  rights  of  the  matter, 


118  Zoe. 

so  that  when  Mr.  Kobins  came  into  the 
cottage  he  found  both  Bill  and  the  baby 
crying  together,  the  fire  out,  and  the 
kettle  upset  into  the  fender. 

"Give  me  the  child/'  the  organist  said. 
And  Bill  obeyed,  as  he  did  at  the  choir 
practice  when  he  was  told  to  pass  a 
hymn-book,  too  miserable  to  wonder 
much  at  this  new  aspect  of  his  master, 
and  at  seeing  him  take  the  baby  as  if  he 
knew  all  about  it,  and  sit  down  in  fath- 
er's arm-chair. 

"See  if  you  can't  make  the  fire  burn 
up,"  he  went  on;  "the  child's  cold." 

Zoe  seemed  well  content  with  her  new 
nurse  and  left  off  crying,  and  sat  blink- 
ing gravely  at  the  fire,  which  Bill,  much 
relieved  at  having  something  definite  to 
do,  soon  roused  up  to  a  sparkling,  crack- 
ling blaze  with  some  dry  sticks,  while 
Mr.  Robins  warmed  her  small  pink  feet. 


Zoe.  119 

Bill  would  certainly  have  been  sur- 
prised if  he  could  have  seen  what  was 
passing  in  the  organist's  mind,  a  pro- 
posal ripening  into  a  firm  resolve  that 
he  would  take  the  child  home  that  very 
night  and  tell  Jane  who  she  was.  Let 
the  village  talk  as  it  might,  he  did  not 
mind ;  let  them  say  what  they  pleased. 

He  knew  enough  of  village  reports  to 
guess  that  Gray  was  not  as  badly  hurt  as 
every  one  declared ;  but  still,  even  a  tri- 
fling accident  meant,  at  any  rate,  a  week 
or  two  of  very  short  commons  at  the  cot- 
tage, perhaps  less  milk  for  the  baby  or 
economy  over  fuel,  and  the  September 
days  were  growing  cold  and  raw,  and 
there  had  been  more  than  one  frost  in  the 
mornings,  and  the  baby's  little  toes  were 
cold  to  his  warm  hand.  Mrs.  Gray,  too, 
would  be  occupied  and  taken  up  with  her 
husband,  and  little  Zoe  would  be  pushed 


120  Zoe. 

about  from  one  to  another ;  and  he  had 
heard  that  there  was  scarlatina  about, 
and  the  relieving  officer  had  been  telling 
him  that  very  morning  how  careless  the 
people  were  about  infection. 

The  cottage  looked  quite  different  in 
the  blazing  firelight,  and  Bill,  encour- 
aged by  the  organist's  presence,  tidied 
up  the  place,  where  the  washtub  stood 
just  as  Mrs.  Gray  had  left  it;  and  he 
set  the  kettle  on  to  boil,  so  that  when 
Mrs.  Gray  and  Tom  came  in  it  presented 
quite  a  comfortable  appearance.  Mrs. 
Gray  came  in  tired  and  tearful,  but  de- 
cidedly hopeful,  having  left  Gray  com- 
fortably in  bed  with  his  leg  set,  and 
having  received  reassuring  opinions 
from  nurse  and  doctor ;  and  the  first 
alarm  and  apprehension  being  removed, 
there  was  a  certain  feeling  of  importance 
in  her  position  as  wife  of  the  injured 


Zoe.  121 

man,  and  excitement  at  a  visit  to  the 
country  town,  both  ways  in  a  cart,  which 
does  not  happen  often  in  a  lifetime. 

The  baby,  thanks  to  the  warmth  and 
Mr.  Robins'  nursing,  had  fallen  asleep 
in  his  arms.  Mrs.  Gray  was  so  much 
confused  and  bewildered  by  the  events 
of  the  day  that  she  would  hardly  have 
been  surprised  to  see  the  Queen  with  the 
crown  on  her  head  sitting  there  in  the 
master's  arm-chair,  quite  at  home  like, 
and  holding  the  baby  on  one  arm  and 
the  sceptre  on  the  other ;  and  Tom  was 
of  too  phlegmatic  a  disposition  to  be  sur- 
prised at  anything.  So  they  made  no  re- 
mark, and  Mr.  Robins  laid  the  baby,  still 
asleep,  in  Bill's  arms,  and  went  away. 

Such  a  beautiful,  quiet  September 
night,  with  great  soft  stars  overhead, 
and  the  scent  of  fallen  leaves  in  the  air ! 
The  path  beneath  his  feet  was  soft  with 


122  Zoe. 

them,  and  as  he  passed  under  the  elms 
which  by  daylight  were  a  blaze  of  sunny 
gold,  some  leaves  dropped  gently  on  his 
head. 

"To-morrow,"  he  said,  "I  will  bring 
little  Zoe  home,  and  I  will  let  her  moth- 
er— I  will  let  Edith  know  that  the  child 
is  with  me,  and  that  if  she  likes —  It 
needed  but  a  word  he  felt  sure  to  bring 
the  mother  to  the  baby,  the  daughter  to 
her  father. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  by  the  church- 
yard gate,  close  to  the  spot  where  that 
bitter,  cruel  parting  had  been,  and  fan- 
cied what  the  meeting  would  be.  After 
all,  what  was  his  feeling  for  little  Zoe 
and  his  imagination  of  what  his  little 
grandchild  would  be  to  him  in  the  future 
to  the  delight  of  having  Edith's  arms 
round  his  neck  and  holding  her  to  his 
heart  once  more  ? 


Zoe.  123 

"Edith,"  he  whispered  softly,  as  he 
turned  away;  "Edith,  come  home!" 

"I  wonder,"  he  said  to  Jane  Sands 
that  night,  "I  wonder  if  you  could  find 
out  an  address  for  me  ?" 

She  was  folding  up  the  tablecloth,  and 
she  stopped  with  a  puzzled  look. 

"An  address  ?     Whose  ?" 

"Well,"  he  said,  without  looking  at 
her,  "I  fancy  there  are  still  some  of  the 
Blakes"  (the  word  came  out  with  a  cer- 
tain effort)  "living  at  Bilton,  and  per- 
haps you  could  find  out  from  them  the 
address  I  want ;  or  perhaps,"  he  added 
quickly,  for  she  understood  now,  and 
eager  words  were  on  her  lips,  "perhaps 
you  know.  There !  never  mind  now ;  if 
you  know,  you  can  tell  me  to-morrow." 


124  Zoe. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Morning  very  often  brings  other 
counsels,  but  this  was  not  the  case  with 
Mr.  Robins,  for  when  he  got  up  next 
day  he  was  more  than  ever  resolved  to 
carry  out  his  intention  of  bringing  little 
Zoe  home  and  letting  her  mother  know 
that  a  welcome  awaited  her  in  her  old 
home. 

He  had  not  slept  very  much  during 
the  night,  for  his  mind  had  been  too  full 
of  thephange  that  was  coming  in  his  life 
and  of  the  difference  that  the  presence 
of  Edith  and  little  Zoe  would  make  in 
the  dull  old  house.  Sad  and  worn  and 
altered  was  she !  Ah,  that  would  soon 
pass  away  with  kindness  and  care  and 
happiness,  and  the  cough  that  had  sound- 
ed so  hollow  and  ominous  should  be 


Zoe.  125 

nursed  away,  and  Edith  should  be  a  girl 
again,  a  girl  as  she  ought  to  be  yet  by 
right  of  her  years ;  and  those  five  years 
of  suffering  and  estrangement  should  be 
altogether  forgotten  as  if  they  had  never 
been. 

He  went  into  the  bedroom  next  his, 
that  had  been  Edith's,  that  was  to  be 
Edith's  again,  and  looking  round  it,  no- 
ticed with  satisfaction  that  Jane  had 
kept  it  just  as  it  had  been  in  the  old 
days ;  and  he  pushed  the  bed  a  little  to 
one  side  to  make  room  for  a  cot  to  stand 
beside  it,  a  cot  which  he  remembered  in 
the  night  as  having  stood  for  years  in 
the  lumber-room  up  in  the  roof,  and 
which  he  now  with  much  difficulty 
dragged  out  from  behind  some  heavy 
boxes,  and  fitted  together,  wishing  there 
had  been  time  to  give  it  a  coat  of  paint, 
and  yet  glad  with  a  tremulous  sort  of 


126  Zoe. 

gladness  that  there  was  not,  seeing  that 
it  would  be  wanted  that  very  night. 

And  just  then  Jane  Sands  came  up  to 
call  him  to  breakfast,  and  stood  looking 
from  the  cot  to  her  master's  dusty  coat, 
with  such  a  look  of  delighted  compre- 
hension on  her  face  that  the  organist 
felt  that  no  words  were  needed  to  pre- 
pare her  for  what  was  going  to  hap- 
pen. 

"I  thought,"  he  said,  "it  had  better  be 
brought  down." 

"Where  shall  it  go  ?"  she  asked. 

"In  Miss — in  the  room  next  mine," 
he  said,  "and  it  will  want  a  good  air- 
ing." 

"Shall  I  make  up  the  bed,  too  ?"  she 
asked. 

"Yes,  you  may  as  well." 

"Oh,  master,"  she  said,  the  tears 
shaking  in  her  voice  and  shining  in  her 


Zoe.  127 

eyes ;  "will  they  be  wanted  soon  ?  Will 
they,  maybe,  be  wanted  to-night  ?" 

His  own  voice  felt  suspiciously 
shaky ;  his  own  eyes  could  not  see  the  old 
cot,  nor  Jane's  beaming  face  quite 
plainly,  so  he  only  gave  a  gruff  assent 
and  turned  away. 

"What  a  good,  kind  creature  she  is," 
he  thought.  "What  a  welcome  she  will 
give  Edith  and  Edith's  little  Zoe !" 

During  the  morning  he  heard  her  up 
in  the  room  sweeping  and  scrubbing, 
as  if  for  these  five  years  it  had  been  left 
a  prey  to  dust  and  dirt,  and  when  he 
went  out  after  dinner  to  give  a  lesson 
at  Bilton,  she  was  still  at  it  with  an 
energy  worthy  of  a  woman  half  her 
age. 

That  stupid  little  girl  at  Bilton,  who 
generally  found  her  music-lesson  such 
an  intolerable  weariness  to  the  flesh,  and 


128  Zoe. 

was  conscious  that  it  was  no  less  so  to  her 
teacher,  found  the  half -hour  to-day  quite 
pleasant.  Mr.  Robins  had  never  been  so 
kind  and  cheerful,  quite  amusing,  laugh- 
ing at  her  mistakes,  and  allowing  her  to 
play  just  the  things  she  knew  best,  and  to 
get  up  in  the  middle  of  the  lesson  to  go  to 
the  window  and  see  a  long  procession  of 
gypsy  vans  going  by  to  Smithurst  Fair. 
It  was  such  a  very  beautiful  day; 
perhaps  it  was  this  that  produced  such 
a  good  effect  on  the  organist's  temper. 
There  had  been  a  frost  that  morning, 
but  it  was  not  enough  to  strip  the  trees, 
but  only  to  turn  the  elms  a  richer  gold 
and  the  beeches  a  warmer  red  and  the 
oaks  a  ruddier  brown,  while  in  the 
hedges  the  purple  dogwood  and  haw- 
thorn and  bramble  leaves  made  a  won- 
derful variety  of  rich  tints  in  the  full 
bright  sunshine,  which  set  the  birds  twit- 


Zoe.  129 

tering  with  a  momentary  delusion  that 
it  might  be  spring. 

He  did  not  come  back  over  the  hill, 
and  past  the  Grays'  cottage,  for  he  was 
going  to  fetch  the  child  that  evening; 
but  he  came  home  by  the  road,  meeting 
many  more  of  those  gypsy  vans  which 
had  distracted  his  pupil's  attention,  and 
looking  with  kindliness  on  the  swarthy 
men  and  bronze,  dark-eyed  women,  for 
the  sake  of  little  Zoe,  who  had  been  so 
often  called  the  gypsy  baby. 

When  he  reached  home  he  found  the 
room  prepared  with  all  the  care  Jane 
Sands  could  lavish.  He  had  thought 
when  he  went  in  that  morning  that  it 
was  just  as  Edith  had  left  it,  and  all  in 
the  most  perfect  order ;  but  now  the  room 
was  a  bower  of  daintiness  and  cleanli- 
ness, and  all  Edith's  old  treasures  had 
been  set  out  in  the  very  order  she  used 


130  Zoe. 

to  arrange  them.  Why !  even  her  brush 
and  comb  were  laid  ready  on  the  dress- 
ing table,  and  a  pair  of  slippers  by  the 
bedside,  and  a  small  bunch  of  autumn 
anemones  and  Czar  violets  was  placed  in 
a  little  glass  beside  her  books.  He 
smiled,  but  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  as  he 
saw  all  these  loving  preparations. 

"Edith  can  hardly  be  here  to-night," 
he  said  to  himself ;  "but  Zoe  will,"  and 
he  smoothed  the  pillow  of  the  cot  close 
to  the  bedside,  and  drew  the  curtain 
more  closely  over  its  head. 

He  found  his  tea  set  ready  for  him 
when  he  came  down,  but  Jane  Sands  had 
gone  out,  and  he  was  rather  glad  of  it, 
as  she  had  watched  him  that  morning 
with  an  eager,  expectant  eye,  and  he  did 
not  know  what  to  say  to  her.  It  woiild 
be  easier  when  he  brought  the  baby  and 
actually  put  it  into  her  arms. 


Zoe.  131 

The  sun  had  set  when  he  had  finished 
tea,  a  blaze  of  splendor  settling  down 
into  dull  purple  and  dead  orange,  leav- 
ing a  stripe  of  pale-green  sky  over  the 
horizon,  flecked  with  a  few  soft  brown 
clouds  tinged  with  red. 

But  envious  night  hastened  to  cover 
up  and  deaden  the  colors  of  the  sky  and 
the  almost  equally  gorgeous  tints  of  tree 
and  hedge ;  and  by  the  time  Mr.  Robins 
reached  the  Grays'  cottage,  darkness  had 
settled  down  as  deep  as  on  that  evening 
four  months  ago,  when  he  carried  the 
baby  and  left  it  there. 

Now,  as  then,  the  cottage  door  was 
open,  and  Mrs.  Gray  sat  at  work  with  the 
candle  close  to  her  elbow,  every  now  and 
then  giving  a  long  sniff  or  a  sigh  that 
made  the  tallow  candle  flicker  and  trem- 
ble. He  had  almost  forgotten  her  hus- 
band's accident  in  his  absorption  in  the 


1152  Zoe. 

baby;  but  these  sniffs  recalled  it  to  his 
mind,  and  he  thought  he  would  give  them 
a  hand  while  Gray  was  in  the  hospital. 

"She  has  been  kind  to  my  little  Zoe," 
he  thought,  "and  I  will  not  forget  it  in 
a  hurry.  She  shall  come  and  see  the 
child  whenever  she  likes ;  and  Edith  will 
be  good  to  her,  for  she  has  been  like  a 
mother  to  the  baby  all  these  months." 

Close  by  where  Mrs.  Gray  sat  he  could 
see  the  foot  of  the  old  cradle  and  the 
rocker  within  reach  of  the  woman's  foot ; 
but  Zoe  must  be  asleep,  for  there  was  no 
rocking  necessary,  and  Mrs.  Gray  did 
not  turn  from  her  work  to  look  at  the 
child,  though  she  stopped  from  time 
to  time  to  wipe  her  eyes  on  her  apron. 

"She  is  taken  up  with  her  husband," 
he  said  to  himself;  "it  is  as  well  that  I 
am  going  to  take  the  child  away,  as  she 
will  have  no  thought  to  give  her  now." 


Zoe.  133 

And  then  he  went  into  the  cottage, 
with  a  tap  on  the  open  door  to  announce 
his  presence. 

"Good  evening,  Mrs.  Gray/'  he  said 
in  a  subdued  voice,  so  as  not  to  wake  the 
baby.  But  he  might  have  spared  him- 
self this  precaution,  for  the  next  glance 
showed  him  that  the  cradle  was  empty. 

"Lord  bless  you,  Mr.  Robins/'  the 
woman  said,  "you  give  me  quite  a  start, 
coming  in  so  quiet  like.  But,  there ! 
Fm  all  of  a  tremble ;  the  leastest  thing 
do  terrify  me.  You  might  knock  me 
down  with  a  feather.  First  one  thing 
and  then  another !  The  master  yester- 
day and  the  baby  to-day !" 

"What !"  he  said,  so  sharp  and  sud- 
den that  it  stopped  the  flow  of  words 
for  a  moment.  "What  do  you  mean? 
Is  the  baby  in  bed  upstairs?  What's 
the  matter?  It's  not  the  scarlatina?" 


134  Zoe. 

"Bless  you !"  she  said,  "why  I  thought 
you'd  a-knowed.  It  ain't  the  scarlatina. 
The  baby  was  as  well  and  bonny  as  ever 
when  she  went.  She've  agone;  her 
mother  come  and  fetch  her  this  very 
day,  and  took  her  right  off.  Ay!  but 
she  were  pleased  to  see  how  the  little 
thing  had  got  on,  and  she  said  as  she'd 
never  forget  my  kindness,  and  how  she'd 
bring  her  to  see  me  whenever  she  come 
this  way.  But,  there!  I  do  miss  her 
terrible.  Why,  it's  most  worse  than  the 
master  himself !" 

The  organist  hardly  listened  to  what 
she  was  saying,  after  the  fact  of  the 
mother  having  come  and  fetched  her 
away.  Edith  had  come  for  her  baby! 
How  had  she  known?  Why  had  she 
done  it  to-day?  Could  Jane  have  let 
her  know  ?  and  had  she  come  so  quickly 
to  take  the  child  herself  to  her  old  home  ? 


Zoe.  135 

His  first  impulse  was  to  turn  and  hasten 
home ;  perhaps  Edith  and  Zoe  were  there 
already  and  would  find  him  absent.  But 
he  could  not  go  without  a  word  to  Mrs. 
Gray,  who  was  wiping  her  eyes  in  her 
apron  and  unconsciously  rocking  the 
empty  cradle. 

"You  will  often  see  her/'  he  said  con- 
solingly ;  "she  will  not  be  far  away." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that;  them 
gypsies  go  all  over  the  place,  up  and 
down  the  country,  and  they  don't  always 
come  back  for  the  fairs ;  though  she  says 
as  they  don't  often  miss  Smithurst." 

"Gypsies  ?"  he  said,  puzzled. 

"Ay,  the  mother's  a  gypsy  sure 
enough,  and  I've  said  it  all  along,  and 
the  child's  the  very  image  of  her ;  there 
wasn't  no  doubt  when  one  saw  the  two 
together  as  they  was  mother  and  child. " 

"Are  you  sure  she  was  a  gypsy  ?"     He 


136  Zoe. 

had  often  said  in  fun  that  Edith  was 
a  regular  little  gypsy,  but  he  would 
never  have  thought  that  any  one  could 
really  mistake  her  for  one ;  and,  besides, 
Mrs.  Gray  must  have  known  Edith  well 
enough,  at  any  rate  by  sight,  in  the  old 
days,  and,  changed  as  she  was,  it  was 
not  beyond  all  recognition. 

"Oh,  there  wasn't  no  mistaking,  and 
the  van  as  she  belonged  to  waited  just 
outside  the  village,  for  I  went  down 
along  with  her  and  seed  it,  painted  yeller 
with  red  wheels.  I  knowed  Zoe  was 
gypsy  born,  for  she'd  one  of  them  charmg 
round  her  neck  as  I  didn't  meddle  with, 
for  they  do  say  as  there's  a  deal  of  power 
in  them  things,  and  that  gypsies  can't 
be  drownded  or  ketch  fevers  and  things 
as  long  as  they  keeps  'em." 

Mr.  Robins  sat  down  in  the  chair  op- 
posite Mrs.  Gray.  An  odd,  cold  sort  of 


Zoe.  137 

apprehension  was  stealing  over  him,  and 
the  pleasant  dream  of  home  and  Edith 
and  Zoe,  in  which  he  had  been  living 
through  the  day,  was  fading  away  with 
every  word  the  woman  said. 

"The  funny  part  of  it  were  that  she 
vowed  and  declared  as  she  put  the  child 
at  your  door,  and  never  came  this  way 
at  all ;  leastways,  from  what  she  said  it 
must  a-been  your  house,  for  she  said  it 
was  hard  by  the  church  and  had  a  thick 
hedge,  and  that  there  was  a  kind  sorter 
body  as  she  see  there  in  the  morning, 
as  must  a-been  Mrs.  Sands  and  nobody 
else  from  her  account.  She  said  she 
was  in  a  heap  of  trouble  just  then,  her 
husband  ill  and  a  deal  more,  and  she  was 
pretty  nigh  at  her  wits'  end,  and  that 
without  thinking  twice  what  she  were 
about,  she  wrapt  the  baby  up  and  laid  it 
close  agin  the  door  of  the  house  where 


138  Zoe. 

she'd  seen  the  kind-looking  body.  She 
would  have  it  as  it  was  there,  say  what 
I  would ;  but  maybe,  poor  soul,  she  were 
mazed,  and  hardly  knew  where  she  were. 
She  went  to  your  house  to-day,  and  Mrs. 
Sands  were  quite  put  out  with  her,  being 
busy,  too,  and  expecting  company,  and 
thought  it  were  just  her  impidence ;  but 
there !  I  knows  what  trouble  is,  and  how 
it  just  mazes  a  body,  for  I  could  no  more 
tell  where  I  went  nor  what  I  did  yester- 
day than  that  table  there.  And  another 
queer  thing  is  as  she  didn't  know  noth- 
ing about  the  name,  and  neither  she  nor 
her  husband  can't  read  or  write  no-ways, 
so  she  couldn't  have  wrote  it  down,  and 
she'd  never  heard  tell  of  such  a  name  as 
Zoe,  and  didn't  like  it  neither.  She'd 
always  a-meant  it  to  be  Rachel,  as  had 
been  her  mother's  name  before  her  and 
her  grandmother's,  too." 


Zoe.  139 

"Are  you  quite  certain  she  was  the 

mother  ?" 

"Certain  ?  Why,  you'd  only  to  see 
the  two  together  to  be  sure  of  it.  Fd 
not  have  let  her  go,  not  were  it  ever  so, 
if  it  hadn't  been  as  clear  as  daylight; 
and  just  now,  too,  when  I  seems  to  want 
her  for  a  bit  of  comfort ;"  and  here  Mrs. 
Gray  relapsed  into  her  apron. 

Mr.  Eobins  sat  for  a  minute  looking 
at  her  in  silence,  and  then  got  up,  and 
without  a  word  went  out  into  the  dark 
night,  mechanically  taking  the  way  to 
his  house  and  then  turning  on  to  the 
high  road  to  Smithurst,  tramping  along 
through  the  mud  and  dead  leaves  with 
a  dull,  heavy  persistence. 

Anything  was  better  than  going  back 
to  the  empty  silence  of  his  house  and 
Jane  Sands'  expectant  face,  and  the 
pretty,  white-curtained  room  with  the 


140  Zoe. 

cot  all  ready  for  little  Zoe,  who  was  al- 
ready miles  away  along  that  dark  road 
before  him,  .sleeping,  perhaps,  in  some 
dirty  gypsy  van  put  up  on  some  bit  of 
waste  land  by  the  roadside,  or  perhaps 
surrounded  by  the  noise  and  glare  of  the 
fair  with  its  shows  and  round-abouts. 
His  little  Zoe !  he  could  not  possibly  have 
been  so  utterly  deceived  all  through,— 
the  baby  who  had  lain  on  his  bed,  whose 
little  face  he  had  felt  as  he  carried  her 
up  to  the  Grays'  cottage  in  the  dark, 
whom  he  had  seen  day  after  day  and 
never  failed  to  notice  the  likeness,  grow- 
ing stronger  with  the  child's  growth ! 
Was  it  all  a  delusion — all  the  foolish 
fancy  of  a  fond  old  man?  He  tried 
hard  to  believe  that  it  was  impossible 
that  he  could  have  been  so  deceived,  and 
yet  from  the  very  first  he  felt  that  it  was 
so,  and  that  the  love  that  had  been  grow- 


Zoe.  141 

ing  in  his  heart  all  these  months  had 
been  lavished  on  a  gypsy  baby  whose  face 
most  likely  he  should  never  see  again. 

And  all  his  plans  for  the  future,  his 
dreams  of  reparation,  of  tender  recon- 
ciliation with  Edith,  and  of  happy, 
peaceful  days  that  would  obliterate  the 
memory  of  past  trouble  and  alienation, 
— they  had  all  vanished  with  the  gypsy 
baby ;  life  was  as  empty  as  the  cradle  by 
Mrs.  Gray's  side. 

Where  was  he  to  find  his  daughter? 
Where  had  she  wandered  that  night 
when  the  pitiless  rain  fell  and  the  sullen 
wind  moaned?  Was  that  the  last  he 
should  ever  see  of  her,  with  the  white, 
wan,  pleading  face  under  the  yew-tree ; 
and  would  that  despairing  voice  saying 
"Father"  haunt  his  ears  till  his  dying 
day ;  and  would  the  wailing  cry  that  fol- 
lowed him  as  he  went  to  his  house  that 


142  Zoe. 

night  be  the  only  thing  he  should  ever 
know  of  his  grandchild,  the  real  little 
Zoe  whom  he  had  rejected  ? 

He  was  several  miles  away  along  the 
Smithurst  road  when  he  first  realized 
what  he  was  doing,  brought  to  the  con- 
sciousness, perhaps,  by  the  fact  of  being 
weary  and  footsore  and  wet  through 
from  a  fine  rain  that  had  begun  falling 
soon  after  he  left  the  village.  It  must 
be  getting  late,  too ;  many  of  the  cottages 
he  passed  showed  no  light  from  the  win- 
dows, the  inmates  most  likely  being  in 
bed. 

Painfully  and  wearily  he  toiled  back 
to  Downside ;  he  seemed  to  have  no  spirit 
left  to  contend  against  even  such  trifling 
things  as  mud  and  inequalities  in  the 
road,  and  when  a  bramble  straying  from 
the  hedge  caught  his  coat  and  tore  it,  he 
could  almost  have  cried  in  feeble  vexa- 


Zoe.  143 

tion  of  spirit.  Downside  street  was  all 
dark  and  quiet,  but  from  the  organist's 
house  a  light  shone  out  from  the  open 
door  and  down  the  garden  path,  making 
a  patch  of  light  on  the  wet  road. 

Some  one  stood  peering  out  into  the 
darkness,  and  at  the  sound  of  his  drag- 
ging, stumbling  footsteps,  Jane  Sands 
ran  down  to  the  gate.  The  long  waiting 
had  made  her  anxious,  for  she  was 
breathless  and  trembling  with  excite- 
ment. 

"Where  have  you  been  ?"  she  said. 
"We  got  so  frightened.  Why  are  you  so 
late  ?  Oh,  dearie  me !" — as  she  caught 
sight  of  his  face — "you're  ill!  Some- 
thing has  happened!  There,  come  in, 
do  'ee,  now ;  you  look  fit  to  drop !" 

He  pushed  by  her  almost  roughly  into 
the  house  and  dropped  down  wearily  into 
the  arm-chair.  He  was  too  worn  out 


144:  Zoe. 

and  exhausted  to  notice  anything,  even 
the  warmth  and  comfort  of  the  bright 
fire  and  the  supper  ready  on  the  table. 
He  tossed  his  soaked  hat  on  the  ground, 
and  leaning  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and 
his  head  on  his  hands,  sat  bowed  down 
with  the  feeling  of  utter  wretchedness. 

Day  after  day,  night  after  night,  till 
his  life's  end,  plenty  and  comfort,  and 
neatness  and  respectability  and  warmth 
in  dull  monotony;  while  outside  some- 
where in  the  cold  and  rain,  in  poverty 
and  want  and  wretchedness,  wandered 
Edith  with  the  wailing  baby  in  her 
arms! 

"You  can  go  to  bed,"  he  said  to  Jane 
Sands ;  "I  don't  want  any  supper." 

She  drew  back  and  went  softly  out  of 
the  room  ;but  some  one  else  was  standing 
there  looking  down  at  the  bowed  white 
head  with  eyes  fuller  even  of  pity  and 


Zoe.  145 

tears  than  Jane's  had  been,  and  then  she, 
too,  left  the  room,  and  with  a  raised  fin- 
ger to  Jane,  who  was  waiting  in  the  pas- 
sage, she  went  upstairs,  and  as  if  the  way 
were  well  known  to  her,  to  the  little  room 
which  had  been  got  ready  so  uselessly 
for  the  organist's  daughter. 

There,  sheltered  by  the  bed-curtain, 
was  the  cot  where  Zoe  was  to  have  lain, 
and  there,  wonderful  to  relate,  a  child's 
dark  head  might  be  seen  deep  in  the  soft 
pillow,  deeper  in  soft  sleep. 

And  then  this  strangely  presuming 
intruder  in  the  organist's  house  softly 
took  up  the  sleeping  child,  and  wrapping 
a  shawl  round  it,  carried  it,  still  sleep- 
ing, downstairs,  the  dark  lashes  resting 
on  the  round  cheek  flushed  with  sleep 
and  of  a  fairer  tint  than  gypsy  Zoe's, 
and  the  rosy  mouth  half  open. 

The  organist  still  sat  with  his  head  in 


146  Zoe. 

his  hands  and  did  not  stir  as  she  entered, 
not  even  when  she  came  and  knelt  down 
on  the  hearth  in  front  of  him. 

Jane  Sands  was  unusually  tiresome 
to-night,  he  thought;  why  could  she  not 
leave  him  alone  ? 

And  then  against  his  cold  hands 
clasped  over  his  face  was  laid  something 
soft  and  warm  and  tender,  surely  a  lit- 
tle child's  hand !  and  a  voice — a  voice  he 
had  never  thought  to  hear  again  till 
maybe  it  sounded  as  his  accuser  before 
the  throne  of  grace — said :  "Father,  for 
Zoe's  sake." 


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.A  CHILD'S  STORY  OF  THE  BIBLE,  with  72  full-page 
illustrations. 

A  CHILD'S  LIFE  OF  CHRIST,  with  49  illustrations. 
God  has  implanted  in  the  infant  heart  a  desire 
to  hear  of  Jesus,  and  children  are  early  attracted 

and  sweetly  riveted  by  the  wonderful  Story  of  the 
Master  from  the  Manger  to  the  Throne. 

'SWISS  FAMILY  R01HNSON,  with  50  illustrations. 
The  father  of  the  family  tells  the  tale  of  the 
vici»i Hides  through  which  he  and  his  wife  and 
children  pas-s,  the  wonderful  discoveries  made  and 
dangers  encountered.  The  book  is  full  of  interest 
and  instruction. 

*CHRISTOP!1FR  ( OLUMRrs  AND  THE  DISCOV- 
i:i;V  OF  AMKKICA,  with  70  illustrations.  Every 
American  boy  and  girl  should  be  acquainted  with 
the  story  of  the  life  of  the  great  discoverer,  with 
it-  struggles,  adventures,  and  trials. 

'.THE  STORY  OF  EXPLORATION  AND  DISCOVERY 
IX  AFRICA,  with  80  illustrations.  Records  the 
experiences  of  adventures  and  discoveries  in  de- 
veloping the  "  Dark  Continent,"  from  the  early 
days  of  Bruce  and  Mungo  Park  down  to  Living- 
stone and  Stanley,  and  tlie  heroes  of  our  own 
times.  Xo  present  can  be  more  acceptable  than 
such  a  volume  as  this,  where  courage,  intrepidity, 
resource,  and  devotion  are  so  admirably  mingled. 

THE  FABLES  OF  .^ESOP.  Compiled  from  the  best  ac- 
cepted sources.  With  62  illustrations.  The  fables 
of  .-Esop  are  among  the  very  earliest  compositions 
of  this  kind,  and  probably  have  never  been  sur- 
passed for  point  and  brevity. 

GULLIVER'S  TRAVELS.  Adapted  for  young  readers, 
with  50  illustrations. 

MOTHER     GOOSE'S     RHYMES,     JINGLES     AXD 
FAIRY'  TALES,  with  234  illustrations. 
6 


HENRY    ALTEMUS'    PUBLICATIONS. 


Altemus'  Young  Peoples'  Library— Continued. 

LIVES  OF  THE  PRESIDENTS  OF  THE  UNITED1 
STATES,  by  Prescott  Holmes.  With  portraits  of 
the  Presidents  and  also  of  the  unsuccessful  can- 
didates for  the  office;  as  well  as  the  ablest  of  the 
Cabinet  officers.  It  is  just  the  book  for  intelli- 
gent boys,  and  it  will  help  to  make  them  intelli- 
gent and  patriotic  citizens. 

THE  STORY  OF  ADVENTURE  IN  THE  FROZEN 
SEAS,  with  70  illustrations.  By  Prescott  Holmes. 
We  have  here  brought  together  the  records  of  the 
attempts  to  reach  the  North  Pole.  The  book 
shows  how  much  can  be  accomplished  by  steady 
perseverance  and  indomitable  pluck. 

ILLUSTRATED  NATURAL  HISTORY,  by  the  Rev. 
J.  G.  Wood,  with  80  illustrations.  This  author 
has  done  more  to  popularize  the  study  of  natural 
history  than  any  other  writer.  The  illustrations 
are  striking  and  life-like. 

A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND,  by  Charles 
Dickens,  with  50  illustrations.  Tired  of  listening 
to  his  children  memorize  the  twaddle  of  oM- 
fashioned  English  history,  the  author  covered  the 
ground  in  his  own  peculiar  and  happy  style  for  his 
own  children's  use.  When  the  work  was  pub- 
lished its  success  was  instantaneous. 

BLACK  BEAUTY:  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A 
HORSE,  by  Anna  Sewell,  with  50  illustrations. 
A  work  sure  to  educate  boys  and  girls  to  treat 
with  kindness  all  members  of  the  animal  kingdom. 
Recognized  as  the  greatest  story  of  animal  life  ex- 
tant. 

THE  ARABIAN  NIGHTS  ENTERTAINMENTS,  with 
130  illustrations.  Contains  the  most  favorably 
known  of  the  stories. 

GRIMM'S  FAIRY  TALES.    With  55  illustrations. 

The  Tales  are  a  wonderful  collection,  as  inter- 
esting, from  a  literary  point  of  view,  as  they  are 
delightful  as  stories. 

FLOWER  FABLES.  By  Louisa  May  A'cott.  With  nu- 
merous illustrations,  full-page  and  text. 

A  series  of  very  interesting  fairy   tales  by  the 
most  charming  of  American  story-tellers. 
7 


HENRY    ALTEMUS'    PUBLICATIONS. 


Altemus'  Young  Peoples'  Library— Continued. 

ANDERSEN'S  FAIRY  TALES.  By  Hans  Christian 
Andersen.  With  77  illustrations. 

The  it  of  high  moral  teaching,  and  the  deli- 
cacy of  sentiment,  feeling,  and  expression  that  per- 
vade these  tales  make  these  wonderful  creations 
not  only  attractive  to  the  young,  but  equally  ac- 
ceptable to  those  of  mature  years,  who  are  able 
to  understand  their  real  significance  and  apprec- 
ciate  the  depth  of  their  meaning. 

GRANDFATHER'S  CHAIR;  A  HISTORY  FOR 
YOUTH.  By  Nathaniel  Hawthorne.  With  60  il- 
lustrations. 

The  story  of  America  from  the  landing  of  the 
Puritans  to  the  acknowledgment  without  reserve 
of  the  Independence  of  the  United  States,  told 
with  all  the  elegance,  simplicity,  grace,  clearness 
and  force  for  which  Hawthorne  is  conspicuously 
noted. 

AUNT  MARTHA'S  CORNER  CUPBOARD,  by  Mary 
and  Elizabeth  Kirby,  with  60  illustrations.  Stor- 
ies about  Tea,  Coffee,  Sugar,  Rice  and  Chinaware, 
and  other  accessories  of  the  well-kept  Cupboard. 
A  book  full  of  interest  for  all  the  girls  and  many 
of  the  boys. 

BATTLES  OF  THE  WAR  FOR  INDEPENDENCE, 

by  Prescott  Holmes,  with  70  illustrations.  A 
graphic  and  full  history  of  the  Rebellion  of  the 
American  Colonies  from  the  yoke  and  oppression 
of  England,  with  the  causes  that  led  thereto,  and 
including  an  account  of  the  second  war  with  Great 
Britain,  and  the  War  with  Mexico. 

BATTLES  OF  THE  W^R  FOR  THE  UNION,  by  Pres- 
cott Holmes,  with  80  illustrations.  A  correct  and 
impartial  account  of  the  greatest  civil  war  in  the 
annals  of  history.  Both  of  these  histories  of 
American  wars  are  a  necessary  part  of  the  educa- 
tion of  all  intelligent  American  boys  and  girls. 
8 


HENRY    ALTEMUS'    PUBLICATIONS 


ALTEMUS'  KIPLING  SEPJES. 

Embracing  the  best  known  tales  and  stories  of  tin? 
popular  writer.  Presented  in  attractive  handy  volume 
size,  and  adapted  for  leisure  moment  reading.  Large 
type,  superior  paper  and  attractive  binding.  Cloth,  3." 
cents. 

1.  THE  DRUMS  OF  THE  FORE  AND  AFT. 

2.  THE  MAN  WHO  WAS. 

3.  WITHOUT  BENEFIT  OF  CLERGY. 

4.  RECRUDESCENCE  OF  IMRAY. 

5.  ON  GREENHOW  HILL. 

6.  WEE  WILLIE  WINKIE. 

7.  THE  MAX  WHO  WOULD  BE  KING, 

8.  MY  OWN  TRUE  GHOST  STORY. 

9.  THE  COURTING  OF  DINAH  SHADD. 

10.  THE     INCARNATION     OF     KRISHNA     MUL- 

VANEY. 

11.  HIS  MAJESTY  THE  KING. 

12.  WITH  THE  MAIN  GUARD. 

13.  THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS. 

14.  LISPETH. 

15.  CUPID'S  ARROWS. 

16.  IN   THE   HOUSE   OF   SUDDHOO. 

17.  THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE-CASE, 

18.  THE  JUDGMENT  OF  DUNGARA. 

19.  GEMIXT. 

20.  AT  TWENTY-TWO. 

21.  ON  THE  CITY  WALL. 


ALTEMUS'  ILLUSTRATED  ONE  SYLLABLE 
SERIES  FOR  YOUNG  READEARS. 


Embracing  popular  works  arranged  for  the  young  folks 
in  words  of  one  syllable. 

Printed  from  extra  large  clear  type  on  fine  enamelled 
paper  and  fully  illustrated  by  famous  artists.  The  hand- 
somest line  of  books  for  young  children  before  the  pub- 
lic. 

Fine  English  cloth;  handsome,  new,  original  designs, 
50  cents. 


1.    JESOP'S  FABLES.    62  illustrations. 
>7      \  CHILD'S  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.    49  illustrations. 
9 


HENRY    ALTEMUS'    PUBLICATIONS. 


One  Syllable  Series— Continued. 

3.  A  CHILD'S  STORY  OF  THE  BIBLE.    72  illustra- 

tions. 

4.  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    ROBINSON    CRUSOE. 

70  illustrations. 

5.  BUNYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS.    46  illustra- 

tions. 

6.  SWISS  FAMILY  ROBINSON.    50  illustrations. 

7.  GULLIVER'S  TRAVELS.    50  illustrations. 


HENRY  ALTEMUS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


ALTEMUS'  NEW  ILLUSTRATED  VADEMECUM 
SERIES. 

Masterpieces  of  English  and  American  literature, 
handy  volume  size,  large  type  editions.  Each  volume 
contains  illuminated  title  pages,  etched  portrait  of 
author  or  colored  frontispiece  and  numerous  engravings. 

Full  cloth,  ivory  finish,  ornamental  inlaid  sides  and 
back,  boxed,  40  cents. 


1.  ABBE  CONSTANTIN.— Halevy. 

2.  ADVKNTURES  OF  A  BROWNIE.-Mulock. 

3.  ALICE'S  ADVENTURES  IN  WONDERLAND.— 

Carroll. 

4.  AMERICAN  XOTES.-Kipling. 

5.  AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF   BENJAMIN   FRANK- 

LIN. 

6.    AUTOCRAT   OF  THE   BREAKFAST   TABLE.— 
Holmes. 

11.  BAB   BALLALDS   AND   SAVOY   SONGS.-Gil- 

bert. 

12.  BACON'S  ESSAYS. 

13.  BALZAC'S  SHORTER  STORIES. 

14.  BARRACK-ROOM  BALLADS  AND  DITTIES.— 

Kipling. 

15.  BATTLE  OF  LIFE.— Dickens. 
]<>.    BTGLOW  PAPERS.— Lowell. 

17.  /  BLACK  BEAUTY.— Sewell. 

18.  BLITHEDALE  ROMANCE,  THE.— Hawthorne. 
IP.'    BRACEBRIDGE  HALL.— Irving. 

20.    BRYANT'S  POEMS. 

26.  CAMILLE.— Dumas,  Jr. 

27.  CARMEN.— Merimee. 

10 


HENRY    ALTEMUS'    PUBLICATIONS. 


Vademecuin  Series— Continued. 

28.  CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE.— Rowson. 

29.  CHESTERFIELD'S      LETTERS,      SENTENCES 

AND  MAXIMS. 

30.  CHILD'S  GARDEN  OF  VERSES.— Stevenson. 

31.  CHILDE  HAROLD'S  PILGRIMAGE.— Byron. 

32.  CHIMES,  THE.— Dickens. 

33.  CHRISTIE'S  OLD  ORGAN.— Walton. 

34.  CHRISTMAS  CAROL,   A.— Dickens. 

35.  CONFESSIONS    OF   AN    OPIUM    EATER.— De 

Quincey. 

36.  CRANFORD.— Gaskell. 

37.  CRICKET  ON  THE  HEARTH.— Dickens. 

38.  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE,  THE.— Ruskin. 

43.  DAY  BREAKETH,  THE.— Shugert. 

44.  DAYS    WITH    SIR   ROGER   DE    COVERLY.— 

Addison. 

45.  DISCOURSES,  EPICTETUS. 

46.  DOG  OF  FLANDERS,  A.— Ouida. 
47./  DREAM  LIFE.— Mitchell. 

51.  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS,  FIRST  SERIES. 

52.  EMERSON'S  ESSAYS,  SECOND  SERIES. 

53.  ENDYMION.— Keats. 

54.  ESSAYS  OF  ELIA.-Lamb. 

55.  ETHICS  OF  THE  DUST.— Ruskin. 

56.  EVANGELINE.— Longfellow. 

61.  FAIRY  LAND  OF  SCIENCE.— Buckley. 

62.  FAXCHOX.— Sand. 

63.  FOR  DAILYr  BREAD.— Sienkiewicz. 

67.  GRAMMAR  OF  PALMISTRY.— St.  Hill. 

68.  GREEK  HEROES.— Kingsley. 

69.  GULLIVER'S  TRAVEL'S.— Swift. 

74.  HAXIA.— Sienkiewicz. 

75.  HAUNTED  MAN,  THE.— Dickens. 

76  HEROES  AND  HERO  WORSHIP.— Carlyle. 

77  HIAWATHA,   THE   SONG  OF.— Longfellow. 
78./ HOLME'S  POEMS. 

79.  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES.— Hawthorne. 

*  80.  HOUSE  OF  THE  WOLF.— Weyman. 

81.  HYPERION.— Longfellow. 

87.  IDLE   THOUGHTS   OF  AN   IDLE  FELLOW.— 

Jerome. 

88.  IDYLLS  OF  THE  KING.— Tennvson. 

89.  IMPREGNABLE    ROCK    OF    HOLY    SCRIPT- 
URE.—Gladstone. 

11 


HENRY    ALTEMUS'    PUBLICATIONS. 


Vademecuin  Series— Continued. 

90.  IN  BLACK  AND  WHITE.— Kipling. 

91.  IN  MEMORIAM.-Tennyson. 

96.  JESSICA'S  FIRST  PRAYER.— Strettoa. 

97.  J.  COLE.— Gcllibrand. 

101.  KAVANAGH.-Longfellow. 

102.  KIDNAPPED.-Stevenson. 

103.  KNICKERBOCKER'S     HISTORY     OF     NEW 

YORK.  -Irving. 

107.  LA   BELLE   NIVERNAISE.— Daudet. 

108.  LADDIE   AND   MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 

109.  LADY  OF  Till:  LAK  E.-Scott. 

110.  LALLA  ROOKH.— Moore. 

111.  LAST   ESSAYS  OF  KUA.-Lamb. 

112.  LAYS  OF  ANCIENT  IJOME,  THE.— Macaulay. 

113.  LET  IS   FOLLOW  HIM.— Sienkiewicz. 

114.  LIGHT  OF  ASIA.— Arnold. 

115.  LIC  I  IT  THAT  FA1LKF).  THE.-Kipling. 

116.  LITTLK  LAME   PiMNCK.— Mulock. 

117.  LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS.  VOL.  I. 

118.  LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS,  VOL.  II. 

119.  LOWELL'S  POEMS. 

120.  LUCILE.— Meredith. 

126.  MAGIC  NUTS    THE. -Mo'esworth. 

127.  MAXOX    LKSCAtT.— Prevost. 

128.  MARMION.— Scott. 

129.  MASTER  OF  P.ALLANTRAE,  THE.— Stevenson 

130.  MILTON'S   POEMS. 

131.  MINE  OWN  PEOPLE.— KipHng. 

132.  MINISTER  OF  THE  WORLD.— Mason. 

133.  MOSSES  FPvOM  AN  OLD  MAXSE.— Hawthorne 

134.  MULVANEY  STORIES.— Kipling. 

140.  NATURAL      LAW      IN      THE      SPIRITUAL 

WORLD.— Drummond. 

141.  NATURE,    ADDRESSES,    AND    LECTURES.- 

Emerson. 

145.  OLD  CHRISTMAS.— Irving. 

146.  OUTRE-MER.— Longfellow. 

150.  PARADISE  LOST.— Milton. 

151.  PARADISE  REGAINED.— MUton. 

152.  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.— Sainte  Pierre. 

153.  PETER  SCHLEMIHL.— Chamisso. 

154.  PHANTOM  RICKSHAW.— Kipling. 

155.  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS,  THE.— Bunyan. 

12 


HENRY    ALTEMUS'    PUBLICATIONS. 


Vademecmn  Series— Continued. 

156.  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS.-Kipling. 

157.  PLEASURES  OF  LIFE.— Lubbock. 

158.  PLUTARCH'S  LIVES. 

159.  POE'S  POEMS. 

160.  PRINCE  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  DAVID.— Ingra- 

ham. 

161.  PRINCESS  AND  MAUD.— Tennyson. 

162.  PRUE  AND  L— Curtis. 

169.  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR.— Ruskin. 

172.  RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS.— Brown. 

173.  REPRESENTATIVE  MEN.-Emerson. 

174.  REVERIES  OF  A  BACHELOR.— Mitchell. 

175.  RIP  VAN  WINKLE.— Irving. 

176.  ROMANCE     OF    A    POOR     YOUNG     MAN.— 

Feuillet. 

177.  RUBAIYAT  OF  OMAR  KHAYYAM.— 

182.  SAMANTHA  AT  SARATOGA.-Holloy. 

183.  'SARTOR  RESARTUS.— Carlyle. 

184.  SCARLET  LETTER,  THE.— Hawthorne. 

185.  SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL.— Sheridan. 

186.  SENTIMENTAL  JOURNEY,   A.— Sterne. 

187.  SESAME  ANL  LILIES.— Ruskin. 

188.  SHAKSPKARE'S  HEROINES.— Jameson. 

189.  SHE  STOOPS  TO  CONQUER.— Goldsmith. 

190.  SILAS  MARKER.— Eliot. 

191.  SKETCH  BOOK,  THE.— Irving. 

192.  SNOW  IMAGE,  THE.— Hawthorne. 

199.  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE.— Lamb. 

200.  TANGLEWOOD  TALES.— Hawthorne. 

201.  TARTARIN  OF  TARASCON.— Daudet. 

202.  TARTARIN  ON  THE  ALPS.— Daudet. 

203.  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR-ROOM.— Arthur. 

204.  THINGS  WILL  TAKE  A  TURN.— Harraden. 

205.  THOUGHTS.— MARCUS  AURELIUS. 

206.  THROUGH  THE  LOOKING  GLASS.— Carroll, 

207.  TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL  DAYS.— Hughes. 

208.  TREASURE  ISLAND.— Stevenson. 

209.  TWICE  TOLD  TALES.— Hawthorne. 

210.  TWT0  YEARS  BEFORE  THE  MAST.— Dana. 
217.  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN.— Stowe. 

213.  UNDINE.  — Fouque. 

222.  VIC:    THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    A    FOX- 
TERRIER.—  Mars-h. 
13 


HENRY    ALTEMI  S'     PUBLICATIONS. 


Vademecuin  Series— Continued. 

223.  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.— Goldsmith. 

226.  WALDEN.— Thoreau. 

2'J7.  WATER  BABIES.— Kingsley. 

228.  WEIRD  TALES.— Poe. 

229.  WHAT  IS  ART?— Tolstoi. 

230.  WHITTIER'S  POEMS,  VOL.  I. 

231.  WHITTIER'S  PnKMS,  VOL.  II. 

232.  WINDOW  IN  THRUMS.— Barrie. 

233.  WOMAN'S  WORK  IN  THE  HOME.— Farrar. 

234.  WONDER   BOOK,   A.— Hawthorne. 

241.  YELLOWPLUSH  PAPERS,  THE.— Thackeray. 

244.  ZOE.— By  author  of  "  Laddie,"  etc. 


ALTEMUS'    ILLUSTRATED    DEVOTIONAL 
SERIES. 

Full   White   Vellum,    handsome    new   mosaic   design  in 
gold  and  colors,  gold  edges,  Boxed,  50  cents. 

1.  ABIDE   IX  CHRIST.— Mun  ay. 

2.  AT  THE   BEAUTIFUL  GATE.V 

3.  BEECHER'S  ADDRESSES. 

4.  BEST  THOUGHTS.— From  Henry  Drummond. 

5.  BIBLE   BIRTHDAY  BOOK. 

6.  MJROOKS'  ADDRESSES. 

7.  CHAMBER    OF    PEACE. 

8.  CHANGED  CROSS,  THE.\ 

9.  CHRISTIAN  LIFE.— Oxenden. 

10.  CHRISTIAN   LIVING.— Meyer. 

11.  CHRISTIAN'S  SECRET  OF  A  HAPPY  LIFE. 

12.  CHRISTIE'S  OLD  ORGAN.— Walton. 

13.  COMING  TO  CHRIST.— Havergal. 

14.  DAILY  FOOD  FOR  CHRISTIANS. 

15.  DAY  BREAKETH,  THE— Shugert.x 

16.  DAYS  OF  GRACE.— Murray. 

17.  DRUMMOND'S  ADDRESSES. 

18.  EVENING  THOUGHTS.— Havergal. 
1.0.  GOLD  DUST. 

20.  HOLY  IN  CHRIST.— Murray. 

21.  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST,  THE.— A'Kempis. 

22.  IMPREGNABLE  ROCK  OF  HOLY  SCRIPTURE. 

— Gladstone. 

14 


HENRY    ALTEMUS'    PUBLICATIONS. 


Devotional  Series— Continued. 

23.  JESSICA'S  FIRST  PRAYER.— Stretton. 

24.  JOHN    PLOUGHMAN'S    PICTURES.— Spurgeon. 

25.  JOHN   PLOUGHMAN'S  TALK.— Spurgeon. 

26.  KEPT  FOR  THE  MASTER'S  USE.— Havergal. 

27.  KEBLE'S  CHRISTIAN  YEAR. 

28.  LET  US   FOLLOW   HIM.— Sienkiewicz. 

29.  LIKE  CHRIST.— Murray. 

30.  LINE  UPON  LINE. 

31.  MANLINESS   OF   CHRIST,   THE.— Hughes. 

32.  MESSAGE  OF  PEACE,  THE.— Church. 

33.  MORNING  THOUGHTS.— Havergal. 

34.  MY  KING  AND  HIS  SERVICE.— Havergal. 

35.  NATURAL      LAW       IN       THE       SPIRITUAL 

WORLD.— Drummond.  \ 

36.  PALACE  OF  THE  KING. 

37.  PATHWAY  OF  PROMISE. 

38.  PATHWAYr  OF  SAFETY.— Oxenden. 

39.  PEEP  OF  DAY. 

40.  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS,  THE.— Bunyan. 

41.  PRECEPT  UPON  PRECEPT. 

42.  PRINCE   OF   THE   HOUSE   OF   DAVID— Ingra- 

ham. 

43.  SHADOW  OF  THE  ROCK. 

44.  SHEPHERD    PSALM.— Meyer. 

45.  STEPS  INTO  THE  BLESSED  LIFE.— Meyer. 

46.  STEPPING  HEAVENWARD.— Prentiss.\ 

47.  THE  THRONE  OF  GRACE. 

48.  UNTO  THE  DESIRED  HAVEN. 

49.  UPLANDS  OF  GOD. 

50.  WITH   CHRIST.-Murray. 


15 


ALTEMUS'   EDi 

IIAXDY    VOLUME    SIZE. 

Limp  cloth   binding,   gold  top,   illuminated  title  and 
frontispiece,  35  cents.  • 


1.  WELL. 

2.  ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 

3.  A  .MI DSL* MM:-  )REAM. 

S  YOU  LIKE  IT. 

5.  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 

6.  CORIOLANUS. 

7.  CYMIIKLINE. 

8.  HAM! 

9.  JUL1  ^R. 

IV.     (Part  I). 
IV.     (Part  II). 

12.  K  VRY  V. 

13.  KING   1IENKY   VI.     (Part  I). 

14.  KIN<;    II  EMI  Y   VI.     (Part  II). 

15.  KIN-  :    VI.     (Part  III). 

16.  KLV  tf  VIII. 

17.  KING  JOHN. 

18.  KING  LK 

19.  KING  RICHARD  II. 

20.  KING  RICHARD  III. 

21.  LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 
2-2.  MA<  i-  TH. 

23.  ^lEASri'E  J'OR  MKASFRE. 

24.  MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

25.  OTHELLO. 

26.  PERICLES. 

27.  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 

28.  THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

29.  THE  MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 

30.  THE  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 

31.  THE   TEMPEST. 

32.  THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 

33.  THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 

34.  TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 

35.  TITUS  ANDRONICUS. 

36.  TROILUS  AND  CRESSIDA. 

37.  TWELFTH  NIGHT. 

38.  VENUS  AND  ADONIS  AND  LUCRECE. 

39.  SONNETS,  PASSIONATE  PILGRIM,  ETC. 

16 


IA  0446: 


